Page 26 of Saved

I step inside and promptly forget how to speak for the second time in an hour.

The room is enormous.

A polished stone floor, softened by thick woven rugs in shades of deep green and charcoal.

A bed big enough to host a small yoga class dominates one side, its frame carved from some dark, glossy wood shot through with faint, glowing veins.

The sheets are soft-looking and pale, with a subtle pattern of leaves.

A balcony juts out from the far wall, its doors open to let in the twilight breeze.

Beyond, I can see the terraces stretching away, glowing faintly with the same low magic as before.

To the right, an arched doorway leads to a bathing chamber. I glimpse a sunken stone pool, steam curling up from its surface, shelves lined with glass bottles full of shimmering liquids in earth-tone hues.

My brain supplies one very eloquent thought.

Holy. Shit.

Brianne moves toward a low table near the balcony doors, where a ceramic pot sits nestled in a holder carved from stone. Delicate cups wait beside it.

She pours.

The liquid that fills the cup is a deep, rich brown, and it smells amazing.

Like coffee’s hotter, darker cousin. Roasted and earthy, with a hint of something spicy underneath.

“Fyrran,” she says, handing me a cup. “Careful. It is strong.”

I wrap my fingers around the warm ceramic and breathe in.

If this stuff tastes half as good as it smells, I’m doomed.

I take a cautious sip.

Heat spreads along my tongue.

Bitter and bold, but not harsh—there’s a sweetness under it, and a faint tingle like cinnamon or ginger.

It slides down my throat and then blooms in my chest, warmth unfurling through my veins.

“Okay, wow,” I say. “I absolutely need this recipe.”

Brianne’s mouth curves.

“I suspect your world does not have such plant derived recipes worth the barter,” she says mildly. “But perhaps we can arrange a trade of sorts.”

I have no idea what I could possibly offer in exchange for this in life-changing beverage form, but honestly?

I’d consider selling my soul. Or at least my grad thesis.

As if sensing my brain veering off-track, Brianne inclines her head toward the bathing chamber.

“When you are ready,” she says, “you may bathe. I have set out garments suitable for tonight’s Rite of Binding. If any do not please you, we will find others.”

Rite of Binding.

The mating ceremony.