Page 33 of Grabbed By the Guard

That’s an altered line from Whiskey Rose’s most famous song, ‘Heart Barely Used’. The real one is: in the spotlight, I'll shine with a heart barely used, but it’s close enough that I can’t not recognize it.

Lucian smiles at me. “Don’t give up hope. Now rest. We have food for our guests, and the bathtub is running.”

Honestly? He had me at ‘bathtub’. If that’s all he did to read me, plucking my relationship to Sierra out of my head through one of her most well-known hits, I can deal.

Because, well, bathtub.

CHAPTER 13

IN NUIT

BILLIE

What a letdown.

I shouldn’t complain. After two days of monotonous travel that got broken up by a demon challenge and the best head I’ve ever received, it was actually nice to sleep in a real bed for the next three nights—or ‘moon’s as the Sombra demons refer to it. They have a tub that I use to wash off the edge, though I have no choice but to pull my worn dress back on after I’m clean.

We get to eat. I try demon wine, then swap it to regular water when it makes me woozy and light-headed. I flirt with Glaine because, well, demon wine.

I wait for them to see if his future’s changed—or what he’s seen about mine.

They won’t explain anything other than their final pronouncement:

And because I refuse to use Glaine’s essence to find out what that means, I have no clue what to make of that.

I asked him. I wheedled him. He gave me vague details about his time in the doppelseers’ cabin nearly seven hundred years ago, but I kinda got a little side-tracked at the thought of Glaine doing something just like that seven hundred freaking years ago.

He had a prophecy, he admits, and part of it’s come true. He’s still holding out hope that he has a better future ahead of him—something he says while looking at me—but because I won’t do what’s expected of a Sombra demon’s mate and pry into his essence myself, we’re at an impasse.

Especially when, after three days, the only thing that’s said in front of me is a plain statement by Lucian:

Nothing has changed. The course is straight, though the path may be bumpy.

I want to argue—or ask them for details—but Glaine thanks the doppelseers for their hospitality and ushers me out the door while I’m still cursing at them in English for wasting my time.

Then we’re on our way again. Glaine keeps shooting me heated glances. I know exactly what he’s thinking, and I don’t even need to refer to his essence to guess. He’s waiting for some sign of the mate sickness to hit me again so that he can be there to ease it in a way more intimate than just brushing our skin together.

On the plus side, the demon twins gave us their solemn agreement that they will continue to use their magic and conceal us until we reach Nuit. After that, we’re on our own. Since I plan on getting a one-way ticket out of her as soon as I get my hands on Glaine’s mage friend, I’m not worried about it.

But the lingering mate sickness that bothers me on the last leg of our journey? That’s a totally different story.

At first, I ignore it. I’m so eager to reach the demon village that I can pretend it isn’t there. Only one problem: I’m a sexual creature. I always have been. I like sex. It’s fun, it feels good, and it helps me relieve the stresses of the day. No denying that, since I’ve been in Sombra, I’ve been nothing but stressed. True, that’s my default state when I’m as busy as I am, but throw in the mate sickness and my growing attraction to Glaine now that I don’t hate his guts as much…

I blame the stupid essence. I don’t want to commiserate with my demon kidnapper, but now that I know his thoughts, his feelings, and his motives… I can’t help but feeling sorry for him that, in all the worlds, he got stuck with me as his one true mate.

Demons recognize theirs mates. I might not understand it, and I definitely don’t like it, but I am his fated mate. It won’t be official until I agree and bond myself to him, but that doesn’t change the fact that we have this tie between us that is getting harder and harder to ignore.

Especially when I’m struggling to resist the urge to strip off my dress and jump the big demon.

At that thought, another wave of need washes over me. I sigh and, flexing my fingers in a grabby motion, I gesture at Glaine.

Without a word, he takes his hand in mine. It helps. Could be better, but at least I’m not slyly trying to rub my legs together as I walk.

Glaine squeezes my fingers. “You need your male.”

“I need a vibrator,” I mutter.

Okay. Sexual frustration makes me bitter. Since we’ve figured out how to handle the mate sickness without Glaine putting his mouth on me—which isn’t a shame at all, no, really—by occasionally holding hands to keep it at bay, I’ve been okay. There’s no reason to get any more involved at this point.

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