‘I like peaches,’ he said, rather randomly, and she snorted. ‘And anything rich and decadent.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ She rolled her eyes.

  ‘I suppose that’s why I enjoy your company too.’

  A soft smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she turned her face to the fire. ‘But I am neither rich nor decadent.’

  ‘There are different ways of being rich,’ he whispered, in a voice that seemed to wrap around her. ‘Rich in money. Rich in hope. Rich in beauty. Bodily rich.’ He rubbed a flap of her nightgown between his fingers, his hand tentatively brushing against her hips. Heat surged from the spot and flooded her body. She could not take her eyes off the piece of fabric, wondering how it would feel if it was her between his fingers.

  ‘As for decadent… Well, it intrigues me, really.’

  ‘What does?’

  His eyes locked with hers. ‘With August, you’re like a predator hunting after her prey, and yet you do not recognise that they have taken your claws and made you into their pet.’

  Her breath caught, and at once it felt like those penetrating eyes could see straight through her. As if he already knew everything about her, even though she did not. She had not thought about it herself, and yet it tickled something at the back of her mind. Something that told her that what he was saying was true. But what it meant, for her and August, she wasn’t quite sure. Nor did she manage to stay on that trail of thought as Elijah took her hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips, allowing them to brush against them. She stopped breathing.

  ‘May you allow me to help you find your claws again?’ He pressed one of her fingers harder against him so that its nail left a pale line down his lip and chin. If she had had literal claws, she would have drawn blood. Staring as if transfixed by the movement, she nodded meekly, and he lowered their braided hands around her waist and pulled her down to the mattress with her back against him, as if they were two spoons fitted together into one. Her nether region pounded. Then he steered their hands to the inside of her thigh and began circling their fingertips.

  ‘I’d like you to touch yourself here in any way that brings you pleasure,’ he murmured against her ear, a trail of jitters lingering in the wake of everywhere their fingers touched. Part of her suspected it had more to do with his touch than hers, and when she felt his fingers ease up around hers, she held on tighter, keeping his hand entwined with hers as yearning chased through her.

  ‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Show me.’

  He did not object or retreat from her; instead, he shifted closer, his fingers once again tight around hers.

  ‘You do not need me,’ he said against the back of her head, yet his hands were steering hers closer to the hem of her dress. Briefly, their fingertips nudged the soft edge and her breathing halted.

  ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he whispered, his thumb toying with the border.

  ‘Tell me one more thing,’ she murmured, heart thrumming while waiting for his reply.

  ‘I once had a rather large family,’ he said at last. ‘I miss them.’

  A slice through the heart, and the image of her own family surfaced. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We were separated when the Tyrant Emperor fell, and the hunting of djinns began. They captured us, then scattered us across the realm. I have not seen my family since.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I miss my family too.’

  His hand squeezed around hers. She could not help herself, and glanced over her shoulder, straight into eyes burning with the heat of a thousand suns. Whatever she had thought to say – whatever she had thought to ask – melted away, and instead, she said, rather breathlessly, ‘I’m ready.’

  The pressure against her hand was tentative at first, before it steered her underneath the hem of her gown. Her nerves shook with anticipation as her own fingertips travelled closer to the pulsing centre between her legs, her neck craning, her lungs exhaling as she felt his knuckles brush against her inner thigh.

  The first fingers brushed against her sensitive opening, and a bolt of electricity flared through her. One by one, he took each finger and steered them in different directions, showing her all the different ways to elicit pleasure, rapidly increasing her pulse pounding through her body and mind. Some strokes made her shiver; others made her shudder. Some made her groan and moan, and a select few made her beg to be shown more.

  ‘You do not need me,’ he repeated, breath warm against her neck. His thumb flicked over a sensitive spot, like a button, and she gasped, arching her back, thrusting her bum against the hardness of him. ‘You only need to recognise the power you hold.’

  His hand settled on her hip, fisting the material of her gown. That’s when she realised she was on her own. Kneading and massaging. Chasing the rising urge within, rolling her hips with it as she would in a saddle. And whenever she hesitated or faltered, whenever she turned with imploring urgency in her eyes, he was there, sliding a finger with her own into the heat of her, steering her back on course. Fanning that need – that drive – to see the build-up coming to a close.

  In the heat of it, before she could let herself go completely, she glanced back at him, his features shrouded in shadows, only his eyes clear on her, not judgemental, but breathless. Stunned. Mesmerized. By her. And for the first time in her life, she felt what it meant to tip over the edge.

  12

  PREDATORS

  Mr Croft raised his head as she strolled by after her morning shift at the Thornfell Manor, and he wasn’t the only one. Everywhere she went, the villagers seemed to do a double take. Conversations stopped midsentence and gazes trailed after her. A woman at a flower stall offered her a free rose, gesturing in a way that implied that it would complement her beauty.

  Perhaps it was the extra little spring to her steps, or the fresh glow to her skin that she had awakened with. Or, perhaps, it had a little something to do with the smile she could not seem to shake every time her mind wandered to the pleasures she’d felt the night before – and this morning, alone in her bedroom.

  Her skin heated a little at the thought. At first, she had woken with a bang of dread, worrying about what people would say if they found out, what they would have said if they had seen – if faces had once again watched her from the window and laughed. Those faces attempted to enter her dreams too, but no sooner had the faces appeared than Elijah’s did as well, chasing them all away until there was nothing but his burning gaze left in her mind. The memory of that gaze had been enough to make her fingers reach between her legs again, repeating what he’d taught her with the memory of his words and the sound of his voice still fresh in her mind.

  ‘Keira!’ someone called, and she startled out of her daydreams, rushing to compose herself and extinguish the scorching heat now covering her whole face. It was rapidly doused, however, as she turned to see August coming to a halt before her, out of breath.

  ‘Keira – I wanted to speak with you about the other day…’ He panted, straightening his collar. ‘I—’ He paused and took her in. ‘You look radiant.’

  Her cheeks pinched as her heart did a surprised somersault. ‘Why, em, thank you, August.’

  ‘I must admit, I did not expect to see you so happy after…’ He trailed off, looking as if he was moving into some internal sort of conversation with himself, eyes still taking her in.

  Her smile faded, her mind catching up to the meaning of his words. After the announcement of his engagement. After the humiliation and degradation and abandonment she had suffered when all she had done was comply with his wishes. Ire set her blood to boil, and with it, Elijah’s words about claws drifted back to her. She squared her shoulders and scowled. ‘Yes, well, I do not need you to be happy, August.’

  He startled.

  ‘No, of course not, forgive me.’ August bowed, then looked around to see if any eyes were upon them before he stepped closer and took her hand. ‘Although, I’m not sure the same can be said for me.’

  She frowned.

  ‘Keira…’ Her name on his lips was like the softest petal of a rose. ‘I can’t help but think that if we had not been caught that day…’

  He shook his head and stepped away, leaving her aching for the rest of his words. What? What then if they had not been caught? The air went out of her. Would he still have been with her? If her reputation was not tarnished while his was intact? If she was not “defiled” and he a conqueror? Somewhere in the back of her mind, the embers of her anger still sizzled. Hissing at the injustice of it. But it was soon quenched by her regret that maybe it was, after all, her actions, her choices, that had led them apart.

  August glanced around them, scratching his neck. ‘How is that relative of yours? Is he still…visiting?’

  ‘Yes,’ Keira said, recalling a glimpse of the djinn fast asleep on his mattress as she left the house. ‘And he is well, thank you. He decided to stay back at the cottage today. Perhaps we’ll go for another walk later.’

  ‘Splendid,’ August said. ‘We’re all to go to the tavern tonight. I hope to see you both there.’ He bowed once more, tipping his hat to her, eyes full of emphasis.

  Keira dipped her chin in return and watched him leave before she picked up her skirts and rushed back home, spirit elated, to tell Elijah that whatever he was doing was working: August was showing her attention again! And although, technically, he had invited Elijah out with them too, something told her that’d just been a courtesy. After all, it would not do for her reputation to be seen unchaperoned after everything else that had happened. But based on his words, she felt certain that it was her who August truly wanted to see.

  She picked up her pace, stopping only to hold open the gate and smile brightly to the mailman bidding her a good day as he left, before she dashed into the cottage, calling the djinn’s name.

  But even as she called it twice, no answer came. The kitchen was vacant, and neither was he in the living room. She pursed her lips and marched upstairs, certain he had taken some liberties with the bath or even her bed while she was gone, but the soft reproach she had prepared died on her lips.

  He was not there either.

  Her skin prickled and she flew back downstairs, grabbed his lamp, twisted the knob, and rubbed the base, a creeping realisation settling in her bones when nothing happened. The lamp fell onto his mattress with a clink.

  Elijah was gone.

  He had left the house. But how? When? The mailman.

  Had he not had a particular mischievous twinkle in his eyes? She ran outside and up to the gate, gripping the wooden planks until her knuckles turned white, looking for him.

  There was no one in sight.

  And there was no point in running after him, she realised with resignation. He could be anyone and anywhere by now. He could be a man, woman, or child, or a bird flying south for the winter.

  She stumbled back to the cottage and let her eyes wander the rooms once more even though she knew he was gone.

  Despite her orders to stay⁠—

  She palmed her face and sagged against the doorway, its old paint flossing onto the floor.

  What a fool she had been.

  Ordering him to stay must have been about as effective as ordering him to fulfil a wish. He must have pretended like it worked, so that she would keep her guard down.

  But why now? He’d had plenty of opportunities to leave before if he’d always been free to do so. What had kept him here before now? What had changed?

  She was struck still as it hit her.

  A shiver went down her spine and what little joy had gathered in her chest the last day plummeted in a ball of despair into her stomach.

  She had pleasured herself. And she had allowed him to watch. No worse, she had even let him join. Give a djinn a finger…

  She squeezed her eyes shut at the memory of his fingers coaxing her delicate parts. Of her heavy breaths and his whispers in her ears.

  Heat once again rose into her cheeks, but it was a different heat from what had burned within her this morning. What had fuelled her actions the night before. A shameful heat. A despairing heat. And suddenly the way he had looked at her, the way everyone had looked at her, distorted in her mind. Twisted into something disgusted rather than admiring.

  She had been frivolous with him, and now…

  Now, he too had left.

  She waited until nightfall, but he did not return. She’d taken a nap, one that turned into a fight with her duvet as she twisted and turned, sighed, groaned, and grunted in exasperation. One minute her fingers itched to reach down between her legs, to give herself the release her body craved; the next minute her mind filled with memories of his eyes upon her, what she now thought must have gone through his mind instead, and the mortification that ensued at having misread his expression so entirely.

  Once she gave up on sleep, she tried to wash herself with a bath, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. She heard echoes of laughter and her own scream from when the boys had dumped her in the lake, and somehow the bathwater seemed to wrap her in more humiliation rather than rinse it off.

  Despite this, she put on her best outfit, and worked on convincing herself that it did not matter what Elijah thought of her.

  August had still shown interest and even expressed a desire to see her. She also remained confident that he would not care one bit that Elijah was not there to come between them.

  So, when Elijah did not show, she put on a cloak and locked the cottage, heading out into the night towards the village and the tavern.

  It was emptier tonight than it had been the first night of the hunt.

  A few people were at the bar, while others sat in groups around tables, talking eagerly with drinks in hand, enjoying meals prepped with today’s catch. August’s friends had taken up one fourth of the room, their voices drifting above everyone else’s. She felt their eyes upon her as she entered the room, crawling along her skin, raking over her body. It was so entirely different from the experience of walking through town this morning, proving that perhaps that, too, had been merely her own imagination. A foolish misinterpretation.

  Her heart sank a little further into her stomach, as did her optimism, and she settled by the bar on her own to order a drink, wondering how literal she could make the proverb “to drown one’s sorrows.”

  ‘Well, hello, Keira,’ Miles said, coming up beside her. ‘Barely recognised you looking all…dry.’ He chortled, a sound shortly echoed by his friend – the boy who had harassed the Nightlady – coming to stand on the other side of her.

  ‘Miles,’ Keira said, gripping her beverage and preparing to leave.

  But Miles held out a hand, pausing her. ‘Oh, come now, Keira. We’re just having a bit of a laugh. I’m sorry. Let’s start over. Pray, are you here on your own or are you waiting for someone?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ Keira said, settling back onto her stool, her eyes flickering to the other patrons in the room. She could have sworn someone mouthed “Nightlady-in-the-making” and watched her while they did so.

  ‘Oh, but I’d hate to see you wait for no reason,’ Miles droned on, ‘especially if it is August you’re waiting for. You know, he has already picked his lady for the night. But my friend here’—he jutted his chin towards the other guy beside her—‘is all free. What say you?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Keira said curtly, and she started chugging her pint, waiting for them to leave, until the glass was nearly empty.

  ‘Alright then; don’t say we didn’t offer.’ They made to leave, but Miles paused as his friend moved ahead, and leaned in closer, murmuring under his breath. ‘Take my advice, though, Keira: quench that thirst of yours for August. It makes you look pathetic.’

  ‘I could say the same to you,’ she snarled back. ‘Tell me, do you really think me a whore, or are you just upset it was my mouth around his cock and not yours?’

  Surprise flashed through Miles’ eyes at her words, but he only laughed loudly, as if he had said something particularly clever – or she something particularly stupid – and wound back to his table. She heard him and his friends tittering and turned away, leaning her forehead against her hand.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that…and yet, it’d had felt so damn good to do so. Good, yet exhausting.

  Saints.

  Suddenly she felt so tired. Heavy.

  Perhaps it had been a bad idea to come after all. The throng of people had increased, and the air had turned stuffier and warmer as a result. Maybe she ought to go out for some fresh air. But her legs didn’t feel particularly keen on moving, and her stomach curdled at the thought.

  Fearing that she might vomit once she stood, she kept still, attempting to block out the loud noises that made her cringe and wish to fold in on herself at the same time.

  More shapes and voices were coming up to her now. Guys she did not know. Men asking if she was with someone. Asking if she was a Nightlady. Poking and pulling at her, asking her to come with them. Leering when she spilled the last of her drink and all she seemed able to do was sway in response or stagger against them, clambering for something to hold her upright.

  She knew she was standing, and yet it felt like she was freefalling. Fear travelled down her numb spine, the only movement that seemed to occur in her body. Everyone around her had gone blurry, their laughing faces blending until they were all teeth and little else. It was like watching them through a haze, one she could not find her way through.

  But someone else did.

  Someone came through the crowd and stepped up to her: someone tall, with fine hair so light it looked like snow. She knew his facial features. Knew the auburn lock of hair that glinted amongst the white.

  Relieved, she stumbled towards him, and he caught her against his chest. The men around erupted into cheers, but August ignored them, holding her close so that it looked like they were merely dancing. There was something strange about his eyes that she couldn’t quite place. She was so unbelievably tired.