Page 46 of Spar of Hearts

-RB

She chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed, covering her mouth to stifle a full-blown howling laugh. She smiled and traced his messy handwriting with a single claw. Her mirth transformed into a blush as the memory of him pinning her hands to the baluster flooded her mind’s eye.

His fangs had been so close to her neck. She slowly trailed a hand down her throat, testing the skin with two claws. Her cheeks burned at the thought of being claimed in such a way—but not just by anyone. Every time he flashed that crooked grin, she imagined him biting into her flesh, sucking and tasting her with a hungering passion. The blooming heat in her belly seemed to thaw the memories of the drunken night prior. Gliding her hands over the planes of his chest, his broad shoulders, those muscular arms—and those fangs. She shivered and squeezed her thighs together, claws digging into the sheets beneath her.

In vino veritas, as they say.

She was getting what she deserved for such ludicrous behavior. The nearly full moon didn’t help at all, but it couldn’t be entirely to blame. Her body burned to be with Roderick in every sense. If he touched her in this moment, she’d surely pull him beneath the sheets, pride and logic be damned.

She sighed and pawed at the nightstand until her fingers found a small vial of honey-orange liquid: anti-fertility tonic. She popped the cork off and downed the contents. If it affected her monthly courses, perhaps it would help quell these thoughts.

Worth a shot.

“Roderick,” she breathed, falling back on the bed. She half wished the word would manifest him beside her; the gentle, considerate version of him she so ardently hoped was his true condition.

Give him a chance, her heart whispered, stoking the fantasy.

But once she told him she was the woman at the masquerade, there would be no going back.

That fanciful hope ebbed and flowed until she was whisked into a tranquil dream.

Anya slept at the base of an aged willow tree, with gnarling roots that reached over the riverbank a stone’s throw away. Warmth enveloped her from behind, gentle breath pulsing tickling her neck.

“The sun is starting to set, my dear. Wake up,” Roderick whispered, brushing a hand through her hair. “I know you don’t want to miss a minute of the stars.”

She buried her face in his chest, joy tugging the corners of her mouth as his cotton and warm iron scent tickled her nose.

“Five more minutes…” She rubbed her cheek against him affectionately.

“Wake up, Anya.”

“No.” She kissed his neck, keeping her eyes closed in protest.

“Anya…”

“Roderick…”

“Anya.”

“Roderick…”

“Anya!”

Anya bolted upright, banging her head on the upper bunk.

“Ah!” She hissed and rubbed her forehead.

“Oh! It’s just me! It’s just me! Are you bleeding, My Lady?” Blackbird gasped.

Anya patted her head. “No, but it hurts like sin.”

“Phew. Sorry for leaving you by yourself. You seemed quite comfortable when I left, and I wanted to get some reading done so—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself. Thank you for taking care of me last night.”

Blackbird fiddled her fingers together. “How much do you remember?”

“Enough to be thoroughly put off from drinking any time soon.”