Page 101 of Fallen Nocturne

I scream and come so hard my vision goes black. My fingers twist in the sheets to brace against the overwhelming sensation, but it swallows me whole. Behind me, his rhythm slows. He pulls free and I crumble face down into the sheets.

The world slowly returns. I am lying face down on the sheets, my legs still twitching with aftershocks. Every muscle in my body feels wrung out. Emptied. I don’t think I can move even if I want to.

“Clever little fawn,” he murmurs. “But it’s not over yet.”

The winged one rolls me over. His hand closes around my thigh and spreads my legs apart. I whimper because I have nothing left. My body is spent, hollowed out, barely mine anymore. If it is possible to die from pleasure, I am certain this is how.

"Please," I sob. "I can't take any more."

His tongue drags up the column of my throat and his teeth scrape against my pulse. I wipe the tears from my face with the back of my hand and steel myself for whatever comes next.

Something moves in the dark.

The shadow vines erupt from the floor. They do not reach for me.

They reach for him.

Dark tendrils lash around his wrists, ankles and waist. They yank him off me and drag him backward, leaving a rush of cold air between us.

His wings snap open on instinct but the vines are already there, coiling around the membrane and pinning them flat against his back.

He thrashes. The veins in his neck stand out as he wrenches against the bindings. More tendrils pour from the walls and ceiling. They string him up like a fly caught in a spider's web, leaving him suspended and furious.

"What are you doing?" he snarls at the shadows. His own shadows. The ones that have obeyed him without question in every dream before this.

They do not answer. They tighten.

I stare from the bed, too stunned to move. The most powerful creature I have ever encountered is hanging from his own darkness, muscles straining, wings pinned, completely trapped.

Something soft drapes over my shoulders. I flinch before I realize it is a blanket. A shadow vine has pulled it from the bed and wrapped it around me gently.

“Thank you,” I whisper. My voice is still trembling.

The vine brushes once against my cheek. It nuzzles softly before retreating.

I pull the blanket tighter and sit up slowly. My legs shake when I stand. On the bedside table, a teacup sits steaming beside a small plate of biscuits. Neither was there a moment ago.

A vine lifts the teapot and tips it carefully, filling the cup to the brim without spilling a single drop. It sets the teapot back down and nudges the plate of biscuits closer to me, as though worried I might miss them.

I pick up the cup. The tea is warm and sweet, exactly the blend I like. I take a biscuit and bite into it while watching the masked man thrash against the vines. Crumbs fall onto my blanket. I brush them off.

He is furious. Magnificent and furious. Every pull of his arms makes the vines creak but they hold. The shadow pours more of itself into the bindings each time he nearly breaks free.

“Let me go,” he snarls at the darkness. The vines tighten. “Traitorous, useless—” Another tendril wraps around his chest and cinches. He bares his teeth. “When I get free, I am burning every shadow in this palace to ash.”

The vine beside the teapot ignores his ridiculous threat entirely.

I set the teacup down and wipe my eyes with the heel of my palm.

A tendril inches toward me across the floor. I flinch, and it freezes. The vine sags, curling in on itself. It retreats a few inches and waits there. Guilt pricks at my chest.

“I’m sorry, but earlier you bound me with my hands behind my back,” I tell the vine quietly.

The tendril wilts against the floor. Its tip curls inward, as though it cannot bear to look at me. After a moment, it slinks closer and coils into a small, apologetic loop at my feet.

“You want to make it up to me?” I ask.

The vine perks up.