Page 64 of The Pureblood Princess
Wait for me, she says, and he releases his hands from her hips to grip the bedsheet in his fists.
A few more circles, then one deep thrust, and she tumbles into pleasure, throwing her head back as a moan slips from her throat.
And then Theodore joins her, his body going rigid, then tensing as warmth explodes inside her. Her first thought is to panic—her mother may not have taught her about making love to a man, but she’s educated enough to know how babies aremade—and then she remembers they’re about to be wed, and the panic gives way to utter joy and contentedness.
She continues to move her hips, slower now, and their tandem panted breaths become gradually softer until she finally falls still.
Nadia collapses on top of Theodore, their chests slick with sweat, and closes her eyes, listening to the fevered beating of his heart. His hand trails across her head, his fingertips brushing through her hair, and happy tears gather along her lower lashes. She didn’t know if she’d ever make it back to him, ever see the light catch his eyes or be touched by his hands again. But here he is, warm and real andright. He’s hers, and the Kazamirs will never take him away from her again.
Her body tingles with warmth and pleasure, and she’s hesitant to get up, to break the spell that can only be cast by two lovers in the heat of passion.
But that magic must fade, and fade it does as Theodore moves, gently shifting Nadia onto the mattress beside him. He turns onto his side, then leans forward and presses his lips to hers gently. She responds in kind, feeling sluggish with satisfaction. When Theodore pulls away, he props his head up on his hand and levels a hard stare at her.
“Tell me everything,” he says, his voice soft, encouraging.
So she does.
“I’ll kill them,” he growls, stalking the length of the tiny room in nothing but his trousers. His chest and shoulders are glazed in a light glow of sweat, and his hands flex into fists at his sides. “I’ll rip their heads from their bodies and burn them until not even ash remains.”
She told him what she could remember of her abduction, then about the Kazamirs’ demand she call off the wedding and marry Marek instead, the hemlock they used to keep her from being able to contact him, Dorota’s threat.
“Well, I . . .”
That’s the only part of the story Nadia hasn’t yet gotten to: her escape... and her shadows.
Theodore ceases his pacing and turns toward her. It’s midday now, and the sun streaming through the small window casts a warm sheen across his olive skin. His eyes are narrowed, and his mouth is angry.
“I already did,” Nadia whispers.
“Youwhat?”
“I killed them. Well, not all of them. Honora and Konrád.” Her voice is small. “I killed them.”
He’s by her side in a moment, taking a seat on the bed and reaching out to cup her cheek with one hand. “Are you all right?” he asks, his tone softening.
“I think so.” But then a bolt of fear goes through her. “What will happen to me? I could be hung.”
“No.” Theodore shakes his head. “We handle our own. The Kazamirs won’t involve humans in our strife.”
His reassurance makes her shoulders droop with relief, but she’s not entirely convinced. Marek saw her; he knows she murdered his brother and sister, and somehow, she doubts her crimes will go unpunished.
Then Theodore is lifting her chin, gazing at her with intensity. “How did you escape?”
She looks up into his green eyes, so pure and filled with love, and then she calls her shadows.
Theodore starts, sitting back with a jolt as her body dissolves into darkness. The anger in his eyes—anger at the Kazamirs—momentarily abates and is replaced by surprise.
Nadia drifts about him, clinging to his skin, avoiding the bright shafts of light streaming through the dusty window.
“Nadia?” he whispers, lifting a hand as she glides across his skin and weaves through his fingers. Gooseflesh rises on his chest, trailing over his shoulders and down his arms.
With her power fully restored, Nadia’s control over her shadow form is significantly improved. Before, controlling her movement was a constant struggle, a battle she lost more often than not. But now she can move her shapeless form at will, and it’s almost as easy as breathing to shift back into her body and shake the last remaining shadows from her skin.
She stands before Theodore now, draped in his large cotton shirt, and he looks up at her from where he sits on the bed with something like awe shining in his eyes.
“What was that?” he whispers, his hands coming to rest on her hips.
Nadia can only shake her head. “I don’t know. But I used it to escape. Without it...” She trails off, trying not to imagine being forced to wed Marek... or being killed for refusing to acquiesce. “When Marek saw it,” she continues, “he seemed... unsurprised.”
