Page 24 of Burn

“Aye, my thorn. You can.” His molten voice poured down my nape. “Shout for me.”

Flames licked a path up my skin. The flanks of my pussy twitched. An orgasm rushed up my throat, and the shape of his name surged across my tongue.

Helpless, I twisted my head over my shoulder, eager to meet his lips.

But instead of that shameless mouth, my lips brushed cotton. The contact struck my senses like a bucket of ice water. My eyes flapped open and landed on the pillow, which occupied the bed’s vacant side.

My chest constricted. The heat between my legs receded, and my hand ceased its movements, slickness from my aching pussy coating my fingers. I gaped at the pillow as if I shouldn’t be surprised, all the while my pulse struggled to catch up.

I blinked through the lust-fueled haze. The cabin materialized, the furnishings glossed in a midnight sheen. Across from me, an unlit brick hearth embedded into the wall, with a short tapestry hanging above the mantel. Candle sconces framed a dresser and mirror, and a trunk stood at the bed’s foot.

My eyebrows slammed together. Fantasies did not turn into reality. At some point, I had neglected to remember that.

Sitting upright, I removed my fingers from the gap in my thighs. Warmth flooded my cheeks. Seasons, I had been on the verge of shrieking. Eliot or Cadence might not have heard a few moans, but a full-bodied onslaught would have inundated this settlement.

Under my nightgown, my breasts hung heavily. The rift in my thighs still buzzed with need, and my limbs still quavered. No matter how often this happened, the blaze rarely died quickly.

Despite the cozy interior, the cabin seemed to shrink. From beyond the window panes, blessed fresh air called to me.

With a defeated sigh, I swung my legs over the edge. Crossing barefooted across the room, I drew a flannel shawl over my shoulders and padded downstairs to the front door. Plaiting my hair would take too long, and it would camouflage the oak braid, neither of which I preferred tonight.

What I needed was a walk. The rain was coming. But with my flesh still burning, perhaps that was a good thing.

And if I got soaked, it did not matter. No one would see me.

11

Briar

The leaves shook like brilliantly colored shingles, their radiance illuminating the paths. For a while, I wandered the bridges and overpasses. Sometimes, I lingered at a vista point and gazed into the distance, as if able to see beyond the dense canopies.

Then I kept going, musing about the people who had once lived here. Not that all of them had been human during that ancient era.

I debated how to restore and preserve this haven, to return it to its former glory. If I did not have a plot against Summer to enact, and a crusade for born souls to embark on, I might have embraced such a project.

Something hard and round pushed into the sole of my boot. Squatting, I picked the nut off the ground and contemplated its shell. Legend spoke of several acorns that granted a dark sort of magic. According to the lore, they could be anywhere, in any territory of Autumn. And one must know what to look for.

Nothing about this acorn appeared unique. Shaking my head, I pitched the nut to the ground, then a droplet hit my wrist. I glanced through the slender notches between the trees, where gray clouds bunched together and emitted a thin drizzle. Soon after, that drizzle intensified into a shower. Rain sliced through the leaves and patted the treehouse rooftops.

Despite the walk and brisk climate, my skin refused to cool from the earlier fantasy. Hoping to amend the situation, I trekked to another lookout point, this one more exposed to the sky. Wrestling off my boots and shrugging off my shawl, I craned my head to the downpour. Then I did something Autumn Royals never attempted in polite society. I spread my arms wide and let the deluge have its way with me.

Rain splattered my hair and drenched the strands. Sheets of water seeped through the nightgown, rendering the fabric translucent and plastering the gauzy material to my body. Droplets licked down my throat, breasts, and hips.

A princess conducted herself properly. A princess always presented herself groomed and tidy.

A princess did not exhibit herself like this. A princess did not drench herself in public.

But that was fine. No one was around. And I was not a princess any longer.

Even if the tempest failed to snuff out the fire in my veins, I gave myself to the elements. My lips curved into a smile. But when I lowered my head, a flash of red caught my attention. I glanced sideways toward the rich color, expecting to see a vibrant leaf tumbling across the platform.

Instead, my grin faltered, then disappeared altogether. Tied to one of the railings was a length of fabric dyed a rich scarlet.

My heart seized. My arms fell to my sides as I stumbled to the item, rain blurring my vision, so that I questioned what I saw.

Stalling before the object, my breathing grew shallow. Reaching out, my fingers shook violently as they stroked the thin cord. At length, I found my voice.

“She leaves her throne, she leaves her home,”I recited in an unsteady voice.“At night, she roams. The dark, her own.”

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