Page 64 of The Ballad of a Bard

She let out a little noise that sounded like a whimper. His jaw flexed at it and his gaze guttered like stars winking out, submitting to the darkness of night. She went molten at it as she explained. “He told me about it, before you came into his room that day.”

Oh Saints, she wanted him to never stop touching her. It was a pulsing desire that quivered between her legs, a rising wildfire that burst to life in her core, a tidal wave of lust that crashed against her, throwing her to its deepest parts without forgiveness.

“Shit.” West started to see the full picture as he understood what she was saying, what was happening to her. “We need to get you upstairs,now.”

“Only if you come with me.” It slithered out before she could stop it. “I want-”

“I know very well what you want, Heartstrings.” He cursed again, shaking his head. “But it’s not going to happen.”

“Please, West.” Crimson licked her lips, needing to feel something on them unless they dry up and wither away. “Just one night, just once. I want to feel what it’s like to be with you, I want to know what it-”

“Saints sake, Crimson.” The Saint groaned, trying to conceal it. “You can’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not?” She stubbornly refused to stop.

He looked her dead in the eyes, and she almost faltered back at the sight of them. Because they were hazy, glazed and smouldering. The midnight sky was on fire, and she understood.

He wanted her too.

Twenty Seven

She was going to be the death of him.

CrimsonfuckingBard, Heartache’s daughter, was going to kill him. With the way she kept scrunching up her scarlet gown, he knew she was seconds away from tearing it off her flesh. He couldn’t let that happen. Not in front of all of these people, who would no doubt pause whatever they were doing to stop and stare. To watch the show that Altivar had no doubt planned in its entirety.

Crimson may have been about to kill him, but he was about to kill the damned Prince.

He had no right to meddle in this affair, none at all. Altivar probably thought it was nothing more than a harmless prank, but within the true nature of their pretend relationship, it was more than just harmful.

West was going to give him a handful of bruises during their next sparring match, if the asshole decided to step foot in the ring. It would be daring, confident. More than he thought the heir could ever muster up after pulling a stunt like this.

“Crimson, we have to get upstairs now.” He pulled her close to him, fully aware that it would only add to her lustful nature. But it didn’t matter. If he didn’t get them both out of there, then things were going to get interesting. Far more than he wanted them to be.

“Alright.” She breathed, a shaking following her wavering tone. “Let’s go.”

West carefully, hesitantly placed a hand on her lower back as he guided her through the bustling crowd. She tucked her lips together, her fingers trembling.

“Lean on me.” He whispered in her ear and Crimson sucked in air.

“West, I-” She blurted out, her cheeks turning cerise as they reached the stairs. “Everything, it feels alive. It’s too much to bear.”

“I know. Trust me, here.” He silently cursed, glancing around before shoving his arms under her legs and hoisted her up. She shrieked softly as he took her into his arms and strode up the steps.

With her heightened sense of the heart and its inner workings, he had no doubt that she could make out his. It was a song of steel, one that was slowly faltering with each touch of her against him. With the way she was pressed into his chest, he could also feel hers. It was rapid, far faster than any mortal, or even Saint’s for that matter, heart’s should be.

He ducked into the hallway after finishing the last step of the staircase, following the long hallway until he reached the second floor and turned down it.

“Almost there.” West informed her as they came across his apartment doors. There was no key that locked it, so he didn’t have reason to set her down to pull something out of his pocket. Instead he kicked it open, slamming it shut with another swift kick behind him as they entered.

He lowered her to the ground, until her feet touched it and she could stand on her own two legs. She needed to cool down, to be calmed from the magical high of Heartache’s blood that coursed through her, that pounded through every cell in her system.

The shower, perhaps.

West contemplated the best way to tell her, the best way that wouldn’t send her into another spiral of heat if worded incorrectly. Maybe he should have just carried her in there, dressed in all her finery instead of asking her this.

He started with, “Heartstrings. I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

“Go on.” Crimson unlatched the belt at her waist, tossing it onto the bed. The golden thing clattered as she began to unpin her hair, dropping each of the star pins that Muse had put there. Carefully woven into her majestic locks of garnet and ruby. The Saint was far more clever than she liked to let on but nothing of what she’d done tonight had been mere coincidence. It was her way of pushing them together.

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