Page 100 of Fallen Nocturne

My hands are free.

Without the shadow vines holding me upright, my body folds. I drop face first into the sheets, boneless and spent. The winged one lets me fall.

The wingless one laughs. “Your shadow is pathetic,” he says to the winged one. “One sob from her and it crumbles.”

Anger flares hot beneath the exhaustion. I glare at the wingless one through my tears. He is unhinged, arrogant and cruel. Mocking the only thing in this palace that has shown me kindness makes me want to snap at him.

But I’m weary and my voice is wrecked. I have nothing sharp enough left to throw at him.

So I will use something else.

The thought crystallizes through the haze of pleasure and fear.

Two can play this game.

They are not the only ones with tricks.

I drag myself up onto shaking arms. The wingless one is right there, close enough to touch, still wearing that smug grin. Before either of them understands what I am doing, I crawl across the sheets and take him in my mouth.

The sound that rips from the wingless one is guttural and completely undone.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. His hands fly to my head, fingers tangling in my hair while I work him with my tongue.

I can barely breathe. The winged one is still inside me, still moving, each thrust driving me forward onto the wingless one.

“What are you doing?” the winged one starts, and I feel his rhythm falter behind me. My body screams that this is too much, that I cannot take being filled from both ends while my legs are shaking and tears are streaming down my face.

But I refuse to stop.

Because when he hits the back of my throat and I swallow, the winged one groans behind me.

They are connected.

Whatever I do to one, the other feels. The realization sparks through me. I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper.

“Gods, Rhianelle." His voice is barely there. "You'll be the death of me. I'm going to—”

The wingless one’s fingers spasm in my hair. His hips jerk forward. The sound he makes is wrecked and completely destroyed. I look up at him through my lashes and his masked face is tilted toward the ceiling. The tendons in his neck stand out like cords and he is close. So close.

Behind me, the winged one grips my hips hard enough to bruise. He drives into me faster, as if he feels what his other self feels.

I suck harder. My tongue works the underside, tracing the ridge. I do everything I can and the wingless one breaks.

He comes with a shattered groan that echoes off the bedroom walls. His whole body locks as salt and heat flood my mouth.

The magic that held him together unravels. He is dissolving, fading slowly into the darkness around us. His hands in my hair are the last thing to go. Then he is gone. Nothing remains but the warmth and the taste of him lingering on my tongue.

The loss of him in front of me pitches me forward. My cheek hits the mattress.

“Do not expect me to vanish so easily,” the winged one says. With nothing in front of me to brace against, every thrust from him drives impossibly deeper. His pace turns savage, hips slamming forward with a force that shoves me up the bed.

“Wait—” I try to push myself up. “I need—”

The winged one’s hand presses between my shoulder blades and pins me flat against the sheets. He is only giving me quick, shallow thrusts but by the gods, they’re hitting all the right places.

Oh, no. This cannot be happening again.

He slams forward and buries himself to the hilt. His hand slips between my thighs, grinding his thumb against my clit. The combination of fullness and pressure sends me hurtling over the edge.