Page 111 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
“Or,” he drawled, his tone wicked, “maybe I feed you something else first.” Before I could reply, he grabbed me and pulled me back onto him, his heat searing against mine. His mouth brushed my ear as he murmured, “Let me make you fall apart again, Peach. I bet I can ruin you before you take your next breath.”
His hand slid between my thighs, fingers pressing firmly against my center. My head tilted back, a moan spilling out before I could catch it.
“Gods, you sound sinful when you moan,” he said, his thumb circling me with devastating precision. His eyes locked on mine, dark and hungry. “Ride me, my Queen. Show me how desperate you still are for me.”
I didn’t hesitate. He shifted beneath me, positioning himself as I rose onto my knees. My fingers curled into his shoulders as I guided him into me, both of us groaning at the connection.
I didn’t start slow. I rode him hard, my hips rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the quick strokes of his fingers over my clit. Each pass sent sparks through me, the heat inside built into something wild and uncontrollable.
“That’s it,” he rasped, his gaze devouring me. “You take me so perfectly.” His thumb pressed harder, faster. “Come with me, baby.”
That was all it took. The world shattered around me in white-hot bliss as he spilled into me, our release colliding like fireworks.
“I love you, Elara,” he breathed, voice low but unshakable.
“I love you, Zayn,” I whispered back, my body still trembling.
We dressed quickly—Zayn in his usual all black, a shadow made flesh, and me in black leather leggings and my fitted breastplate. As I fastened the straps, a folded piece of parchment slid from the breast pocket and drifted to the floor.
Zayn scooped it up, a knowing glint in his eyes. “What’s this?”
My cheeks warmed as he unfolded it—the note he had written me. He clutched his chest dramatically. “Peach, you’re obsessed.”
I rolled my eyes, shoving past him, but before I opened the door, he stopped me. “Glamour, baby. We have to put it back up.”
I almost forgot. Being in my true form made me feel like—me. Whole. Complete. I didn’t want to go back to being human—ever.
I sighed. “I know, I hate it too, trust me. But we have to.” He said.
“It dulls my magic, though,” I whined.
“I know. But you’ve been doing so well with it in your human form. You’ll be alright, Peach. I got you. Always.”
As we left the chamber. Our footsteps echoed down the stone staircase toward the dining hall—until shouts cut through the air. The commotion was coming from beyond the main castle doors. Then I heard it.
A scream. So loud. So crippling, I felt her pain. Her anguish, like it was my own.
We were running before I realized I’d moved.
Sivka was on her knees, her body shaking as Cendrin clung to her. Their arms wrapped around each other like they were afraid the other might disappear if they let go. Tears streamed down both their faces—raw, unrestrained sobs that tore through the cold morning air. Sivka’s hands clutched at the back of his tunic like a lifeline, her knuckles white, while his face was buried in her neck, his cries muffled against her skin.
Around them, the crowd stood in uneven silence. Some faces were blank, empty as though they couldn’t comprehend what they were seeing. Others covered their mouths, shoulders trembling with horror. But a few… a few smiled—those twisted enough to find pleasure in this spectacle.
“THIS—” King Aymon’s voice thundered over us, deep and sharp enough to rattle my bones. “This is what happens when you are a traitor!”
My heart dropped so fast I thought I might be sick.
Movement caught my eye—Fintan pushed through the throng, his gaze lifted toward the castle wall. His steps faltered, a sob escaped before his expression hardened into fury. His eyes found mine, wild and desperate. “Elara… don’t—”
But before he could finish, I was already shoving past him, my feet carrying me until I stood at his side, staring upward.
And then I saw.
Three bloodied heads. On spikes.
Yara.
My father.
