Page 80 of Spar of Hearts

“I need some air.”

Anya whipped her dress from beside the fire and disappeared into the night. Roderick stood at the mouth of the cave, recovering from the torrent of emotions. All he wanted to do was follow her, ignoring every rock and pebble and stick that dug into his feet—but he resisted. She wanted air, and he wanted to give her everything she wanted.

But only after he told her everything.

“Ugh,” he groaned and slid down the damp cave wall, slapping a hand over his face. His body had yet to catch up with his mind. A fang drug over his lower lip.

I have to do this right.

Anya Delemond

Anya hunted for a rock formation that would grant her even a modicum of privacy, though it hardly mattered out here. There was no one here but her and Roderick. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Her first moment alone with him with no one else in sight or sound since the garden, and she’d gone and thrown oil on the fire.

Had she really hit her head? Part of her hoped she had. It would be a wonderful scapegoat for her weak moment. Head trauma. Head trauma made her act like a debutante. Not her heart.

A tenuous mixture of embarrassment, arousal, and anxiety swirled in her chest, bringing a tingle to her spine and crimson that spread all the way to her ears. There was a giant wall of ice fifty feet from her, but she felt hot.

An appealing outcrop caught her eye, and she ducked beneath it. This corset had to go. It had to be why she felt so warm. She contorted a claw behind her back and sliced through the threads. The threads he had tied earlier. The memory of the gentle press of his fingers into the swell of her hips drew a shiver from her core.

With a final cut, the corset fell away.

“Ah…” She pressed her bare back against the cool stone, eyes squeezed shut, praying this would restore her rational mind.

It didn’t.

All she could think of was what should have come next with Roderick. She wanted much more than a kiss. She wanted him to remove the clothes that separated them, to merge the heat of their bodies, coax her to an impassioned edge, then hoist her up and take her against the wall of the cave, just like this.

Just like animals.

Her pulse beat between her thighs. Every breath came faster and faster as her desires desperately sought control of her body; an unbearable pull to Roderick that hurt to ignore. Though she hadn’t ignored it. Roderick had held her as a mate would, breathed his scent all over her, let his passion spill onto her lips—right before he pulled away, exposing her to the folly of her actions.

Anya ripped herself from the stone and dragged her hands down her face. This kind of behavior was not befitting of a princess, or her in general, for that matter. This was purely instinctual. Moon-driven. Carnal.

But trying to project her imaginings onto someone else was a waste. Whether it was the Marquis of Olesnea, the handsome guard who was always posted at the back gate of the palace, or the baker on Whitetail Road, each time, Roderick was the only one she could see—proving yet again, that this was far more than moon-driven lust.

Perhaps it was simply the rush of danger and gratitude toward her savior?

Anya huffed a breath and forced her dress on. Stars, even the littlest friction from the fabric against her chest fanned the fire in her belly. It was too much. It was all too much. Tears of frustration bubbled in her eyes.

Sand and rocks shifted under her bare feet as she sprinted toward the beach. She wanted her lungs to burn, her body to sweat, and her heart to thunder from something else. Anything else. But the sprint was wholly unsatisfying by the time she reached the water. The skies were beginning to clear. Clouds parted reverently for the silver moon, nearly full to bursting into its waning phase.

She blamed the moon for the heat roiling in her center, for the fluttering heart she couldn’t slow. Why did the moon see fit to meddle in its creation now? And to torture her with such a trivial sensation, when all those years ago, it hung silently, watching over the world as trials and tribulations wreaked havoc on Valeria. The Gathering? Nothing. Sick children? Nothing. The storm? Nothing.

A little girl with four paws and a heart for the celestial shoved into a wooden crate every full moon?

Not a damn thing.

Was her kind on a poppy pipe dream? Why love a heavenly body that didn’t seem to give a damn about its people? What kind of “Mother Moon” did nothing?

Anya picked up a rock and hurled it into the moon’s shimmering reflection with an angry shout. The water broke up in a splash, then settled back into place with each throw.

“Grrrah!”

“Agh!”

“Why did you let them cage me!?”

“Why?!”