Page 28 of Spar of Hearts

He tried to wrestle his mind into submission, but his faculties were too weak, chipped away by the lack of Rhodias and the wolf-masked woman’s howling laughter, beaming smile, and devilish whispers.

Your wanton expression is a work of art. It seems a shame to sate it and erase it, but I think I may have to.

But instead of the masked maiden, Anya infiltrated his mind’s eye. He imagined her standing barefoot on the bow of the Lupus Star in a gorgeous yet practical gown, golden hair blowing in the salty breeze, and his fang marks in the soft curve of her neck. Those marks would prove that she was his, and the scratches from her claws would be a delightful, stinging reminder of her claim on him.

He shook his head violently. I’m disgusting—such unbecoming thoughts about a woman who despises me—the Princess! And I’m confusing her with a woman I will never see again. Anya’s hair doesn’t flow free on the breeze. It’s tight, rigid—just like her. And bare feet? A princess wouldn’t be caught dead without shoes.

His subconscious heaped insults upon him. The wandering star was within his heart, and the Princess was inside his head, biting and scratching at his very center—proving her words true.

You’re an insensitive, self-absorbed rake!

He wanted to pound his head on Yomira’s neck to pour the thoughts out of his mind and into the ocean below. Just as he was about to give in, the wyvern belched a tongue of flame below them, accompanied by a smoky, sulfurous afterburn that brought his mind back to the moment.

Thank you…He heaved a breath.

You are welcome. A roil akin to a laugh built in Yomira’s throat. Derick.

Chapter 13

Anya Delemond

“Slow down!” Anya shouted as Yomira angled her wings for a landing. Was she slowing down enough? If the wyvern was locked up for years, how much flying experience could she have? Anya clenched Lord Bryson around the waist and buried her face in his shirt. She could feel his heartbeat pounding through his back.

I suppose he hasn’t flown too often either. This may be only his second time.

She felt a tad better knowing that the man who had fended off the Duke of Eldenkeep’s almost-assassin was also afraid of something.

“Woohoo!” Blackbird and Sir Oshfeldt cheered and hooted behind her. If Blackbird was cheering, it must be going fine; though Blackbird enjoyed such thrills. Wind whirled around her as the wyvern flapped its wings. The flaps grew slower and the gusts calmer as the earthy scent of grass and loam filled her nose.

Ground, sweet, sweet ground! Anya opened her eyes and peeled herself away from Lord Bryson’s back. He gaped for breath loudly as she loosened her hands. In her panic, she had moved her arms up to his chest and strangled the very breath from him as they landed. And she wasn’t even aware enough to enjoy it.

A field of dandelions surrounded them, just a stone’s throw away from a two-story manor that was under heavy construction on one half. It was a surprise, to say the least. Balcott wasn’t known for its wealth or grandeur. The structure stood out from the humble homes and shops around it.

A chestnut-haired human was up on the roof with a mallet, pounding a board into the framework. The second he stopped, he perked his head up. “Yomira!” he called and waved his mallet. “Millie! Yomira is back!” He began to climb down the scaffolding.

The wyvern bobbed her head and rolled what seemed like a happy grumble in her throat, if there was such a thing.

“Anya,” Lord Bryson said softly. “You can let me go now. I will get off first and help you down.”

“No need!” She was eager to get off this ride, and to escape the embarrassment of holding onto him far longer than necessary. She hadn’t even noticed. Before he could insist, as he always seemed to, she swung her legs over Yomira’s spine and slid down her winged arm. Blackbird met her at the bottom and caught her with a hug.

“You did it, My Lady! Horses don’t seem so terrifying now, huh?”

“Horses?” Lord Bryson’s voice came from behind her. She stiffened.

The word from his lips beckoned memories of the verdant garden behind Melusine Manor and their ride back to the inn.

Do you not like horses?

Despite believing him to be a hollow-headed knight, a spark of fear in her mind lit a flame of panic in her chest.

“I never thought so to begin with!” she sputtered, tugging Blackbird alongside her toward the wyvern’s flank.

“But, My Lady, you’ve always—”

“We talked about horses that night,” Anya cut her off with a whisper. Blackbird stared blankly at her for a moment, then her eyes grew wide with understanding, and she nodded so fast her dark braids whipped back and forth.

“Can you not live without something in there?” Lord Bryson called over. “I don’t want to waste time repacking.”