Page 164 of Anathema

The fight intensified, while feathers flew around us to cover the burgundy, velvet blankets. They were in our hair, and the sight of it only made us laugh harder.

In that moment, I let go of everything, and I jumped like Aleysia and I used to do when we were children.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

ZEVANDER

In the Great Hall, Zevander patted Ravezio on the shoulder, as the other Letalisz headed toward the door to leave, but when the distant clamor of screams reached his ear, both of them froze and gave a quick glance to one another, before racing up the staircase.

They followed the sound down the corridor, coming to a stop before Maevyth’s room.

Zevander listened for a moment, and at the sound of another scream, he opened the door, just as Rykaia swung a pillow at Maevyth. She failed to connect, and Rykaia tottered backward before falling over the edge of the bed with a hard thunk.

His muscles lurched, but both women let out a laugh so intense, they wheezed.

“What in the gods’ shriveled balls is this?” Ravezio chuckled beside him, not bothering to hide his amusement when Zevander glanced his way.

Frowning, Zevander stepped inside the room. Objects drifted in front of his face, and he held out his hand to catch them in his palm. Feathers.

Maevyth fell to her knees on the mattress and peered over the edge at Rykaia. “Are you okay down there?”

Both girls screamed with laughter again and lazily rolled around, seemingly unaware of them standing at the doorway.

“Seems somebody got into something.” Ravezio pointed to the dresser, where a bottle of liquor sat.

Zevander strode toward it, swiped it up, and one sniff confirmed it was Ambrozhyr. The gods’ nectar. He dragged a hand down his face as he held it up to the light. The bottle was completely empty. “Fuck.” He’d enchanted the cork to keep Rykaia, in particular, away from the potent liquor that had a tendency to make her sneak away to the brothel.

Rykaia craned her neck back, and the moment she seemed to notice him, she snorted another obnoxious laugh. “We’re doomed, Maevyth. The fun governor has arrived, and he is not happy.”

Across from him, Ravezio snorted, then quickly cleared his throat, clearly desperate to keep from laughing. Thankfully, Zevander wore his mask to hide the biting of his tongue.

“I’m so tired now, Ry.” Maevyth squirmed and writhed on the bed. “These sheets are so … soft.” She lifted the hem of her dress, exposing long, slender legs that she rubbed against the sheets.

Fucking hells, the sight of her and that natural scent which drifted across the room tightened his muscles.

“She is going to be hurting soon,” Ravezio said. “If she’s never had Ambrozhyr, the first time is always the worst, and who in fucking hells knows what it’ll be like for a mortal. Someone will have to stay with her. Perhaps give her relief.”

The drink was known for its very enticing flavor, but that enticing flavor happened to be a powerful herb and aphrodisiac. For most Aethyrians, it elicited a strong attraction toward someone, or an urge to touch, or fuck, something. In a mortal? Zevander couldn’t even imagine what it’d do to her.

“She just needs sleep,” he said, wondering if her skin felt as soft and smooth as it looked, like the dreamy silk of the sheets crumpled around her legs. “She’ll be fine.”

Higher, her dress lifted, until her bare thighs were exposed, and Zevander felt the first twinge of need shoot straight to his groin.

Alongside him, Ravezio licked his lips, and the sight of his arousal for her had Zevander’s hands curling into tight fists at his sides. “Merciful gods, let me give her relief, if you refuse.”

“She’s mortal. Aren’t you afraid of whatever diseases she harbors?” he asked in a mocking tone.

“No.”

Zevander frowned back at him. “You so much as breathe across her neck, and I will take pleasure in skewering your skull before I set it aflame.”

Brows tight, Ravezio gave him a sidelong glance. “Easy, there. You skewer my skull, and you will suffer tremendous guilt for having murdered your only loyal friend.”

“That is a pathetic assumption.”

“If only it weren’t true.”

Rykaia let out a moan, and Zevander jerked his head toward her. “Help her to her room, and so help me gods, if you touch her–”

---