Page 37 of Wicked Depths

I shift lower, trailing my mouth down the flat of her stomach, my hands gripping her thighs, spreading her just enough—

She rips away.

Chest heaving. Eyes wild.

"Enough." Her voice is wrecked, her pupils blown, but her fingers curl into the table behind her, desperate for something to hold onto.

I grin, licking my lips, tasting her skin.

"If you ever do that again," she rasps, voice wrecked, "I will chain you back in the warded cell myself."

A thrill dances down my spine.

I let my gaze rake over her—her kiss-bruised lips, the flush along her throat, the way she still trembles.

My smirk widens.

"I’d like to see you try."

Chapter

Ten

NYXARA

Iwake with a start, the weight of last night pressing against my skin like a phantom touch.

I should not have let her touch me. I shouldn’t have let her mouth ghost over my skin, her tentacles tease and stroke, drawing sounds from me that I should never have given. I should not have let myself crave her.

The air in my chamber is thick, laced with the remnants of her magic, the scent of salt and dark waters lingering even though she is no longer here. I exhale sharply, raking a hand through my hair. I need to leave.

I rise, silk sheets slipping from my skin, the cold morning air licking against the heat still lingering from last night. My jaw tightens as I shove the thought away and move toward the grand armoire against the far wall.

I pull out a gown, black as midnight, the fabric shimmering faintly in the dim morning light. The corset top cinches my waist, lace curling over my ribs like creeping vines, the plunging neckline revealing just enough to tempt, but never invite. I slide my arms through the fitted sleeves, the delicate material clinging to my skin, shifting like shadow when I move.

The skirt flows in soft layers, sheer in places, parting high up my thigh, the long slit allowing freedom of movement. I step into thigh-high boots, the sharp heel clicking against the stone floor as I stand, rolling my shoulders, feeling the power settle back into me.

At the ornate vanity, its surface carved from polished obsidian, I trace a fingertip over the vials of perfume and kohl scattered across it. I line my eyes with kohl, darkening the edges, sharpening them into something lethal. My lips, full and soft, are painted a deep plum, a stark contrast against the pallor of my skin.

Satisfied, I push back from the vanity, running a hand through my thick black waves, letting them fall unbound down my back. The weight of it is familiar, the strands smooth beneath my fingers, a reminder of the power that runs through my veins.

I turn toward the balcony. The great doors swing open at my command, the wind rushing past me, cool and fresh with the scent of the forest below.

The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain. From my balcony, Varellith stretches before me, bathed in the golden haze of sunrise. The towering silver-barked trees sway in the wind, their iridescent leaves catching the light like shards of amethyst and emerald. The rivers carve through the land, dark as ink, winding toward the vast lakes that glisten like obsidian glass under the rising sun. It is beautiful. Wild. Mine.

And soon, war will come to it.

Below, the valley stirs with life. A herd of shadow elk moves through the trees, their inky black coats flickering like smoldering embers as they step between light and darkness. Their leader, a massive stag with twisted silver antlers, lifts his head toward the castle, nostrils flaring as if sensing my gaze. They know what is coming.

Further along the riverbanks, a trio of Naiads rise from the shallows, their translucent bodies shimmering like liquid opals, hair tangled with dark kelp, eyes like deep water. They whisper to one another in their ancient tongue, watching, waiting.

Near the cliffs, perched on the jagged rocks overlooking the valley, a griffin stretches its wings, feathers shifting between hues of sapphire and gold. Its sharp gaze sweeps across the land, always watching, always guarding.

Even the smaller creatures move differently today. The wisps flit between the trees, their glowing bodies leaving streaks of pale fire in the air. The Shadewalkers remain unseen, but I know they are there—watching, listening.

They all feel it.

King Aldric is pushing deeper. His men are growing bold. If I do not act soon, they will come for all that I protect.

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