Page 13 of Cursed Shadows 1

Taroh’s body holds me up, pressed so hard against mine that my ribs ache just as my back does. Tears slick my face that pulls against his firm hand, desperate to yank as far away from the coffee scent of his auburn hair as possible.

A part of me…

It’s so wretched that just acknowledging it brings shame to my cheeks that burn hotter than Taroh’s hand tearing at my skirt. But a part of me urges to submit—not to enjoy it or because it’s in my nature. But because I know he’ll take me anyway, and maybe it’ll hurt less if I stop squirming, stop pushing at his solid chest.

I should submit. He’s to be my husband. I want to keep a peaceful marriage—and he expects this of me now.

But… the nausea is stirring so deep in my gut and the urge to sob is rattling through me. I want to bite his fingers off and tear out his eyes.

I don’t submit.

I turn my head with a grunt of struggle, but his palm still muzzles me, and his mouth just clamps onto my neck—his teeth latch on hard enough to force a wince through me.

Stuck between our bodies, my hands still push against his chest, my nails cutting through his blouse and drawing blood from his skin, but it’s as useless as my screams are against his sweaty palm.

“You’re drunk,” I try to shout, but it’s a garbled hum. “Taroh, stop, please, please stop.”

Nothing. He’s ripped the skirt and now his hand dives into the new slit. He grabs me.Grabsme. And just… holds. It’s a statement.

Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and angry. A hiss turns into a choke, and I’m sure I’ve snotted all over his hand. But all he does in answer is groan something feral and it flexes his erection pressed against my writhing belly.

“I want to try you out now, halfling,” he growls and his hand disappears from my mound. “Ensure you’re worth the gold I’m paying.”

Then, I hear the pop of a button—I turn wild.

I scream against his hand.

He pushes me harder against the statue. My spine screams with me. My legs kick out at the air. Nails cut deeper into his torn shirt.

Taroh just grinds against my core. There are no breeches shielding him anymore; his excitement is hot and ready. I feel it slip over the apex of my thigh as he tries to angle—

And then he’s gone.

The soles of my sandaled feet slap down on the stone podium. A sharp inhale sucks through me, shuddering my chest.

I blink through the tears at movement. It’s only when I raise my fists to wipe away the tears that my vision clears that I see what pulled Taroh off me… orwho.

A tanned, strong hand is fisted into Taroh’s white blouse. The one who saved me…it’s him.

The dark one. The dokkalf who watched me the night before, the one who watched me dance.

His face is a hard mask of stone, like the statues all around me, but his eyes blaze like ocean storms. His head only reels back for a millisecond, then it comes crashing down on Taroh’s face.

Ifeelthe crunch of his nose breaking.

The headbutt is enough to send Taroh sprawling back to the ground. He spills over, legs spread, and a dumb look on his crumpled, confused face.

The moment he snaps out of the daze with a blink, he’s grabbing at his breeches and fastening them up. All the while, his bloodied and swollen lips curl around a silent snarl as he looks up at the one standing over him.

At the dark one.

Dressed in his leather gear, he’s as menacing as he is wicked. His black leathers are the sort that cling to each muscle and every line of definition on his tall, strong body like a second skin. All sorts of daggers and throwing stars wink at me, the weapons he has strapped to his large biceps and solid thighs.

But it’s the look on his face that has a tremor run through me.

I don’t think. I don’t pay any thought to the reality of what just happened—that the dark fae saved me. I just act on the fear chilling my insides.

Pushing from the statue, I stagger forward and make to run.

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