Page 6 of The Last Heir of Elsewhere

I gasped, unsure what I intended to say. The sensation was too much, my body was too tired, and I couldn’t go any higher without crashing.

Bael placed another kiss on my throat, sucking lightly on the skin. An unexpectedly strong tremor shot through me, curling my toes, and settling deep in my core. “Oh gods.”

He made a satisfied male noise in the back of his throat. “One day, I’ll mark you here, too, and then we’ll see whose bite makes you moan louder.”

“Hmm?” I jerked, realizing what Bael was talking about—where he was kissing me. A spark of self-loathing crept through my happy haze of lust, and I reached up to push his head away from the all too obvious bite scar on my throat that seemed unwilling to heal.

“Wait,” I breathed.

His eyes flashed with wicked intensity, and before I could protest, he grazed his teeth deliberately over the scar.

Every muscle in my body clenched, and I let out a sharp breath as the sensation pitched me over the cliff I’d been climbing since the first brush of his lips. My knees shook, my entire body clenching, and I bit down hard on my own lip to stifle my scream as I shattered around him. Seemingly spurred on by my reaction, Bael’s movements stuttered then stilled as he followed me over the edge.

I stared up at the ceiling, panting, as I came down from the adrenaline high that was better than any fairy wine. The mark on my neck throbbed, and I closed my eyes, an odd combination of satisfaction and guilt washing over me.

It shouldn’t matter—not really, when Bael and I fit so well together and I was nearly as happy as I could ever remember being.

Except, he was not the one who’d left that mark on my neck, and no matter what I did, my conflicting feelings seemed likely to be as permanent as the scar.

2

LONNIE

THE CUTTHROAT DISTRICT, INBETWIXT

It took several minutes for the stars to stop bursting behind my eyelids, and for both of us to collect ourselves.

Now dressed and looking far less rumpled than I likely did, Bael took a step toward the door. “I told you they would wait, little monster.”

I put a hand out to halt him. “No, let me go. Iola is afraid of you.”

Bael frowned, and one of his bright yellow eyes rolled into the back of his head, showing me the white. I’d seen him do this before, and knew he was simply checking to make sure it really was Iola on the other side of the door. After a fraction of a second, the prince blinked, and grinned at me. “Alright, you go.”

I checked once more that my clothing was back in place, then crossed the small room and swung open the door, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry to make you wait. We were?—”

“Please, save me the explanation,” Scion said, without inflection. “The entire house could hear you, I don’t need a reenactment.”

Words failed me.

Instead of Iola, it was Prince Scion who stood on the other side of the door, close enough that if I wanted, I could have reached out and touched him.

I looked up to meet his gaze and immediately regretted it.

It had been days since Prince Scion and I had so much as made eye contact, now, our eyes met and a pounding ache radiated through me, settling in my chest, and beneath the bite on my throat.Damn.

Scion had always been almost too-perfect looking. More overtly dangerous than Bael, he seemed at home in armor, and gave the impression that he doled out pain with his pleasure. Since the battle, his flawless features had been marred by a slash that ran the length of his face, from his temple down his cheek to his chin, narrowly missing his silver eye. It had been done with a Source-forged blade during the battle, and therefore would not heal immediately like any other wound, but I’d thought that perhaps Gwydion would be able to fix it for him. Apparently not since the cut was still red and raw, and oozed slightly whenever Scion moved or spoke.

My lips parted, words stalling on the tip of my tongue. Then, silently, Scion quickly averted his gaze, leaving me feeling hollow.

I could have kicked myself.Every. Damn. Time.And yet, I couldn’t simply learn to look away first. Or better yet, never to look at him at all.

It had been like this all week, since that morning in the fishing village when he’d kissed me as if he could not stop himself. I knew the feeling, because that was exactly how I felt every time we grew close.

“Sorry,” I stammered to my shoes, finally remembering how to speak. “I thought you were Iola. See, Aine keeps making her run errands or do chores, like she’s still a servant, so I thought she’d sent Iola to tell us we were late for the meeting again. Because, well…”

“Stop speaking.” Scion put up a hand. “I do not care.”

He shouldered past me into the room, knocking a bit too hard against my arm for it to have been an accident. My brow furrowed, my irritation at his dismissal overtaking my embarrassment. “You can’t just barge in here.”

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