“What will happen to it? To Mistaken?” she asked, nodding toward the village. A flicker of orange licked through the windows of Gil Catasch’s stables. A Bright-Eyed had plummeted into it, knocking over a lantern before knocking over Gil himself.
“Does it matter?”
Finn was so close his lips caressed the curve of her ear, and though Greer knew that behind those lips were rows of serrated teeth, fangs monstrous in their size and shape, she leaned in to him, wanting to feel more.
“Will they turn them?”
“Only as you command. The Gathered will not offer their blessing without yours.”
Greer imagined what it would be like to rule over the people of Mistaken. She pictured her father, face full of fury as he realized his place in this new order. She thought of Mary Beaufort, cursed with an eternity of confusion and fear; of Louise, who’d never believed in the Bright-Eyeds anyway. What would she think if she became one herself?
It would be terrible, but would it be worse than if they were goneentirely? She ran her tongue over the edges of her teeth, choosing their fate.
“None should change,” she decided, shocking herself.
She glanced back. Finn, now in his human form, nodded with a courtier’s deference. Curiously, Greer reached out and cupped his cheek, feeling the stubble across his face and the unnatural heat which radiated off him. When his eyes flashed toward her, his eye-shine was feverishly bright. He nuzzled against her palm, luxuriating in her touch, before pressing a kiss to its center.
She wanted to be surprised but found she could not.
His lips were dry and warm. He moved them lower, flirting with the soft skin of her inner wrist. His teeth grazed over the blue veins pulsing beneath, and she wondered, should he sink them in, what would her blood—human but not, human only mostly—taste like?
Greer turned, fully facing him. He ran his hands through her hair, threading fingers around the loose locks, gently tugging the ends, and tipping her face to meet his kiss easily.
“How I’ve waited for you,” he murmured across her mouth, opening her lips with his. His tongue swept through, dancing over hers, running along the ridges of her teeth. “Waited for this.”
“For me?” she asked.
He nipped at the corner of her lips, smiling as she matched his movement.
“You,” he affirmed, and pulled her to him, fitted her frame against the length of his. Finn’s hands swept down her back, fingers spread wide so as not to miss a single inch of her, as their mouths ravished each other’s. Her spine arched and his mouth wandered lower, ripping open the buttons of her bodice to press hot, wet kisses down the column of her throat, tasting the hollow between her clavicles, before finally, finally, reaching her breasts.
Greer closed her eyes, wanting to savor each sensation, delight in every thrill he drew from her. His hands felt as if they were everywhere, all at once, holding and grasping and kneading, pressing and prodding and claiming her as his. He was rough yet reverent, possessive and resolute, and absolutely confident that every gesture he made brought her pleasure.
And because this was a dream, and because there was no Ellis, Greer allowed herself to be pulled down, laying herself bare before Finn, before the sky, before all of Mistaken, burning in the distance.
She woke witha gasp and wrenched herself up.
The flames burned lower now; the logs were broken apart into a bank of red embers.
Finn had returned while she’d slept and was lying on the other side of the fire, eyes closed.
She studied his sleeping form with the nightmare—had it been a nightmare?—still fresh in her mind. His face was relaxed, his brow unfurrowed, unworried. She had the terrible urge to run her thumb along the line of his cheek to see if he was as warm as in the dream, but pushed the thought away.
It would be foolish to deny that he was handsome.
Of course he’s handsome,Greer thought irritably.He can choose to look like anything he wants. Why wouldn’t he try to draw me in, to entice?
Entice…
She remembered the way his mouth had roamed her skin, how he’d licked her throat and nipped at her flesh, softly, with the edges of his teeth, then softer still, following with kisses and murmured appreciation.
Against her better judgment, she allowed herself to slip into memories of the dream, basking in the heat of his stare, his possessive hold. Desire gripped her, curling through her middle, snaking to her mind. Her breath quickened as she remembered the husky warmth of his voice whispering, “My sovereign,” as he’d plunged into her.
It was a cold slap, ripping the haze away. Greer had no desire to rule over anything, but something in the way he’d said those two words tempted her, making her feel powerful and alluring and—
Greer shoved the thought away.
No.
