Page 59 of Realm of Nightmares
“Be careful with that one,” a familiar feminine voice crooned from beside her.
Maeve jolted, then whipped around to discover Laurel standing next to her, a wicked smirk smeared across her face.
“Why are you here?” Laurel shifted her armful of products, which included three bottles of the lust potion. “I’m sure if you asked him, Rowan would be more than willing to take care of you.”
Maeve recoiled. “It’s not like that with us.”
Laurel heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Someone should tellhimthat.”
On that point, Laurel was probably right. Maeve loved Rowan once, or at the very least, she thought she did, but now her heart belonged to another. What she thought was passion was nothing more than surface attraction, merely the pining of an inexperienced female who convinced herself his every display of attention meant something more. Something worthwhile and permanent. Time and again, he’d proven her wrong.
She cared for Rowan, yes.But even the fates had decided they were never meant for each other.
“Is there a reason you followed me?” Laurel asked, drawing Maeve back from her thoughts. The obnoxious female browsed the curated selection of leather restraints, completely unbothered to be shopping for intimate products with an audience.
“Actually, yes.” Maeve seized her distraction as an opportunity. “What’s your problem?”
Laurel continued to admire the intricate bindings, dismissive. “With you or…”
“With me. With everyone.” Keeping her voice low, she pretended to be interested in the blindfolds, the most unexciting merchandise available to them. “It seems odd that someone who can’t stand the sight of me had no problem saving my life only a few nights ago.”
She tossed her braid over one shoulder. “I have my reasons.”
“That’s it?” Maeve stared at her. Laurel was so flippant, so absurdly lackadaisical about the entire conversation, that fresh annoyance hummed along Maeve’s skin. “That’s your only explanation?”
There was no time to react before Laurel was in her face, her black diamond eyes flashing with tempered rage. “I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else. You know nothing of what I’ve been through—you don’t know the extent of my suffering.”
Maeve softened. Misery and heartache were all too familiar to her. “Everyone has trauma, Laurel. It’s how we choose to deal with it that defines us.”
“Exactly.” When Laurel smiled, it was sharp like a serrated blade. “So you keep being all sunshine and fucking rainbows, and I’ll continue to be an ice cold bitch.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it though?” Laurel grabbed one of the fur-lined restraints and added it to the collection of goods in her arms. Her gaze flicked to Maeve. “Mind what you buy in here.”
“Oh, sonowyou’re warning me?” Crossing her arms, Maeve glared up at the audacious fae.
“Of course not, Dawnbringer,” Laurel sneered, every word dripping with purposeful sarcasm. “But aren’t all of your purchases placed on the god of death’s personal account?”
Maeve blanched.She’d almost forgotten.
Laurel cackled, then swept through to the other side of the black curtain, leaving Maeve alone with an arsenal of sexual toys at her disposal.
Now it was Maeve’s turn to smirk.
Perusing the rest of the shop, she grabbed a vial of the illusion elixir, an exceptionally masculine vibrating shaft, and the onyx nipple clamps.
Let the god of death know she planned on pleasuring herself. It would serve him right for always flaunting his sexual prowess.
Maeve headed to the front to buy her purchases, then stopped. Smiling to herself, she grabbed a bottle of some warming stimulator for the clit and continued on her way.
* * *
Maeve returnedto the House of Death, trying to be as discreet as possible on the way back to her room. She rounded the corner of the obsidian hall, already expelling a sigh of relief when she stumbled to a stop.
Lounging against the corridor opposite of the door to her bedroom was none other than the god of death himself. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his black pants, and he wore a silver cuffed shirt that was incredibly trim, defining the muscles of his arms. He ran a hand through his white hair, tousling it. His gaze drifted over her, up and down, focusing on the bag in her hands.
“Hello, High Queen,” he purred, the corner of his mouth curving up into a smirk. “Did you have fun shopping?”
