Touch his face.
Feel his fingers on my body.
Experience his dark laugh, the sarcastic quips he wields like armor around his heart.
The memory of my name on his lips consumes me. My fingers splay out over the clear glass. I want to smash through this window, leap from the balcony, and close the distance between us. I want to feel my body shiver as he drinks me in, unable to tear his gaze away, as if I’m the most beautiful creature on this planet.
His face the last time I saw him invades my mind. Those broody, haunted ice-blue eyes softened with hope.
With love, for me.
He was willing to risk everything to give me what I wanted. Was that what made him act rashly and risk getting caught? Did my demand for him to love me blind him to the dangers of our plan?
The bond might be fraying between us, but his emotions are amplified somehow now, and they pour into me like the poison scouring his veins. His hurt is my hurt; his agony my agony; his longing my longing.
“Do you like your present?”
I manage to tamp down my tremor of revulsion as Hellebore’s breath tickles my cheek. The psycho is close.
Feeding off my agony.
Leeching every bit of my pain for his own enjoyment.
Someday I’ll make him feel every bit of the torture he’s inflicted on me. Someday he’ll pay for hurting Valerian.
“Look at him.”
Jaw locked, I obey his command. My mate stands alone, rigid and statuesque on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Like Hellebore, he’s dressed beach-bum chic in loose-fitted cotton-white linen pants and no shirt. Even in the grip of the Bloodstar poison, he exudes power and magic.
And fury. That most of all.
I have no doubt that, if not for his friends needing the antidote every week, he would rip Hellebore apart with his bare hands, war be damned.
The corded muscles of his back clench as Inara Winterspell rises from the pool, throws on a sheer ivory cover-up that blows in the soft breeze, and glides toward him. The silvery one-piece bathing suit she wears shimmers under the fading sun, the thin material clinging to her skin like frost. Her royal blue hair rivers between her shoulder blades, the tips slightly frozen.
A surge of violent heat blasts through my core as she slides her arms around his bare waist and rests her chin on his shoulder.
“They look good together, don’t they?” Hellebore murmurs.
He’s calling my bluff.
My ragged breath threatens to give me away. Inara whispers something into Valerian’s pointed ear, and pressure grows in the tips of my fingers as claws threaten to sprout. There must be a shifter close by.
I concentrate on moving my chest up and down, on breathing, but . . .
Inara is laughing, and the way her lips brush the bottom lobe of his ear, the way she is running her hands through his hair—
Dull pain explodes in the center of my palms. Panting, I glance down to see dark gray talons where my painted fingernails once were. This isn’t happening.
The dagger-honed tips press dangerously into the flesh of my fisted hands.
Any more pressure and I’ll pierce the skin. The blood will give me away, and Hellebore will realize I can shift. He’ll realize this is all a sham.
I’m not powerless and I still love Valerian, perhaps more than before.
I need to calm down. Think of puppies and sloths and baby hedgehogs. But my hands remain firmly clawed and clenched into hard rocks. It’s never been this hard to control my borrowed powers.
Is it the mating bond? Or perhaps my Fae side taking hold?
“Something the matter, pet?” Hellebore’s intense gaze burns dangerously. One look down at my hands, hidden now in the folds of my cover-up, and he’ll know.
I made a mistake not expecting him to test me. I underestimated him once and it cost me nearly everything. A second time would ruin me.
There’s no doubt now this is a test. Of the bond’s strength, perhaps, or to see if my magic has broken through.
I can’t react.
Just when I feel the pressure in my palms relent, Inara glances over her shoulder, meets my stare, and grins before moving in for a full-on kiss.
Molten fury overrides my will as a sick, wild rage takes root. Something primal stirs beneath my aching heart.
And when I catch Valerian’s tense shoulders and rigid body language . . . when I feel his shame and hurt pouring down our bond, twining with my own . . .
She’s humiliating him to hurt me. My mate. My best friend. The man who was willing to give up everything for me.
A garbled cry of fury bubbles up my throat. I’m going to rip your heart out for that.
For the span of a breath, an icy shadow darts over the patio, chasing away the wet heat. There and gone. It happens so fast that most of the Fae below don’t even seem to notice.
But Inara is too clever by half. Slowly, she lets her head tilt back. Lets her gaze dart to the window. A flicker of surprise or perhaps even fear loosens her sneer of triumph, and I swear I catch her swallow before looking away.
That was reckless. Stupid. I grit my teeth as I fight for control of my emotions and newfound magic.
Did Hellebore notice?
“One look at you,” Hellebore whispers from behind me, “and I can have him imprisoned.”
As Hellebore’s property now, Valerian is forbidden from laying eyes on me.
I exhale, slipping the last of my composure back into place. The talons retract, leaving divots in my flesh but no blood. “That’s boring, don’t you think?” I glance over my shoulder at Hellebore. “Where’s my gift?”
My feigned petulance manages to hide my emotions, but there’s no way to mask my rapidly moving chest or sweaty palms. The urge to rip her arms from my mate softens but doesn’t go away, a bitter acid on my dry tongue.
This is going to be so much harder than I thought.
“I remember you being so much more fun.”
My ruse is working. I shrug, running my fingers over Valerian’s fading mark. “Maybe I’m grateful for our engagement. Otherwise, I might have rushed into a relationship prematurely.”
Will he believe me? I try to calm my racing heart only to make it pound harder.
“So you are happy about our arrangement?” he asks, the softness of his voice almost hiding the cruel cunning beneath.
“Happy?” I snort. “That’s a stretch. I’m just saying maybe it was fortuitous. The time away from the Winter Prince has given me time to think about what I want.”
“Which is?”
“To be free.”
Not a lie.
He chuckles. “Aw, does the rabbit think she still has a way out of the trap? That’s adorable.” But his dark gaze glosses around the edges, and when his attention darts from me to a dark-skinned Fae female with verdant green hair and fragile iridescent wings, I know I’ve won this battle.
I’m no longer the shiny new toy in the room.
His wicked gaze never leaves the Fae girl as he murmurs, “Out of my sight, little pet.”
I should be relieved, so why do I feel seconds away from vomiting? But he’s looking at the Spring Fae as if he wants to snap off her wings and hear her scream and—
No. Not your problem.
I hesitate, torn between taking advantage of my lucky break and warning his new victim. But Mack grabs my arm and yanks me from the room, one of my sandals nearly falling off.
When we’re out of earshot, she whisper-hisses, “Stick to the plan.”