Page 66 of Revenge of the Forgotten

Smart. They didn’t need prying eyes catching them in the middle of what surely would be a mistake. Vega was good at mistakes in this life—she kept racking them up like a punch card with a free coffee after ten stamps.

The door closed, and they didn’t pull away from each other. Vega opened her mouth, letting Khort’s tongue slip inside and consume her. He tasted like a campfire—warm and smoky.

She was lost in the moment, completely unaware of the little pull in her mind that was telling her to stop, over and over and over again. Wasn’t it too late? If she stopped now, she couldn’t take it back anyway. She missed the touch of another human, the way it felt to be wanted.

She wiggled her way out of his arms and slid down his body, never once allowing their lips to part. Her hunger for his touch only grew as a groan slipped through his lips and vibrated against hers. Vega could feel his want, his hunger matching her own. He took a large step back, sitting himself down on the squeaky bed. Vega climbed into his lap, straddling him. The long dress hiked up to her hips, cinching around her waist and exposing the sheer underwear she wore.

As Khort’s hands slid up her thighs, she finally broke their kiss, throwing her head back. Her hair fell over her shoulder. She could feel his erection underneath, pressing into her center. Vega rolled her hips, grinding against him. That evoked another deep growl from Khort, sounding like the rumble of a dragon.

“Vega.” Khort’s voice was full of gravel, kissing her neck as his hand slid up to the back of her head. He forced her face close to his. “We can’t.” The words stopped her hips, her body begging for more of the friction between her thighs.

She breathed heavily, letting his words settle in. “Why?” she asked, still lost in the moment.

“Because this means something more to me than it does to you.”

Vega hauled herself off of his lap, all of the blood rushing to her head and causing her to go cold. The hem of her dress fell, pooling around her feet. “Fuck, Khort. I’m sorry. You’re right.” She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face while she looked at him, wide-eyed, from across the cramped room. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to feel something.” She let her hair fall back into place. “I got lost in the night. I-I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.” He stood up and took a few steps, closing the distance as he grabbed her face in his hands. “Don’t be sorry. I just know who you are when you’re not lost in that pretty head of yours, and this isn’t what you would want.”

Vega nodded. “But it’s what I want right now.” Her icy gaze held him. “And just because I can’t remember our past doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about kissing you all week.”

Khort ran his hand over his face and started to pace the room. “Gods, Vega. I want to. Believe me, I’ve wanted this—us. Fuck. We can’t do this. Not right now.” He stopped pacing in front of the door, hand resting on the doorknob. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” He twisted the handle and slipped out, shutting the door behind him.

Vega stared after him, the small clock on her bedside table ticking on the second. The realization of what she’d just done was setting in, churning her stomach. This time it wasn’t the wine causing her to feel like she would upend the contents.

Vega slumped onto her bed, putting her head in her hands. “Fuck, Vega. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She cursed at herself, her chest tightening with an overwhelming sadness. Vega, in this life and every other, was a glutton for punishment. God, if for once in your life you could just get it together!

How long would it take for the people she loved here to give up on her too? It happened on Earth. Why wouldn’t it begin to happen here?

So much for not letting me wake up with any regrets.

24

His hands were bloody again, this time from the hours he’d been banging on the door of the empty room that had become his cell. He and the others were knocked out and separated, making it impossible for Bridger to know where they were taken.

Bridger didn’t need to see the outside of this room to know he was in Ardor—Meyer’s homeland. The walls were made of orange clay with stucco textures; nowhere else in their realm would this adobe material be used.

Bridger paced, his dirty boots scuffing against the ceramic tile flooring. He scratched at the brand on his forearm that stifled his powers, begging the dead gods to give them back—to let him get to Vega.

Power benders from Fraus were a special kind of people, and the worst part of their power was their ability to stop others from using theirs. Bridger was in deep shit. They had made the brand on his forearm, which was outlawed for use outside of the Curia's control. It took his powers, turning him into nothing more than a powerless human.

The only way to break it was to have it removed by a bender.

A sound rattled from the other side of the door, causing Bridger to stand at attention in the middle of the room.

His broad shoulders rolled back, preparing for a physical fight if needed. When the door opened, his parents stepped in. His mother was clothed in a long black dress flowing to the floor around her feet. Her hair was sharp, the cut tight to the edge of her chin, not a strand out of place as usual.

His father was in a clean commander’s uniform, completely black. His cape caught the air, fluttering behind him as he strolled into the lonely room.

Bridger used to dream of the day he’d get to don the suit his father was wearing.

“Where is she?” Bridger stormed toward the both of them, but his father held his hand up, his powers still intact. Bridger slammed into the wall of his father’s shield, one he could usually bend to his will if his powers weren’t being smothered.

“Knock it off, Bridger.” His mother’s voice sounded as if she’d run out of patience. “You need to snap out of this.” She stood on the other side of the invisible wall Lucius had up, not a lick of concern for her son on her face. She was annoyed, even slightly bored, as she watched her only child pace the length of the shield, looking for a hole in his father’s power.

He wouldn’t find one.

Bridger was stronger than his father, but he wasn’t as experienced, which would always be his fatal flaw.

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