Page 90 of The Dead Queen

As if that’s all the permission he needed, he loses himself in the moment. Hunter forgets about being the sweet, lovestruck gentleman. He thrusts into me, hard and needy. I completely unravel as he does it again and again, our bodies growing slick against each other. I am an animal of the deep, dark forest, consumed by need rather than thought. It feels so good not to think. Not to worry, or plot, or care. Just to be here together, alive.

“More.” My nails scrape across his back in my desperation to pull him closer.

He gives it. All of it. We are gasping, clawing at each other. Our chests rise and fall as one as he takes me to a place I’ve never been. To a delicious pain I never knew existed. His breath grows quicker, louder, mixing with mine in a slurry of abandon. Out here in this enchanted forest, the rules and limits of propriety are gone. We lose ourselves in the intoxicating nectar of illicit lust.

The world fractures, the tension inside me shattering in a rush. Light flashes behind my eyes and my limbs tremble as I gasp, helpless against the surge of release. My body tightens around him and he thrusts once, twice, then pulls away just in time. He meets me here, in this place of indescribable bliss.

After, we cling together on the leaf-covered ground, unwilling to let the real world seep back in, like water hovering along the edge of a page. As we lie on the cool forest floor, I know one thing for certain.

I almost lost Hunter today. But now, he’s mine forever.

Chapter 28

The forest path is a beautiful sight behind us, made all the more beautiful for having survived it. But the landscape ahead is desolate.

My breath catches in my throat when we finally emerge from the trees. In front of us, as far as the eye can see, is a boneyard. The ground is scarred and uneven, a barren wasteland littered with the remnants of war. Blackened stumps of burned trees jut out from the earth alongside singed banners, torn and tattered, their colors faded to a ghostly memory. Here and there, the bones of unidentifiable beasts lie bleaching in the sun.

The wind howls through the decaying battlefield. It catches a torn banner that’s still attached to a post. The fabric flaps wildly in the dusty air. It’s faded and splattered with mud, but I can still make out the design: a copper fox on a once-white background.

Next to me, Hunter sees it too. His face is sad, his shoulders heavy with the weight of guilt. But none of this is his fault, of course. It’s my father’s.

“What’s the matter, Red? Haven’t you been to the borderlands before?” Tristan asks lightly, his voice a poor attempt at levity. I catch the tension in his jaw, the way his gray eyes turn stormy. He’s disturbed too, though he won’t admit it.

“Not like this.” My voice is a whisper, barely audible over the mournful wind. “The camps … they’re never on battlefields.”

Tristan just sniffs and starts walking, his boots crushing the brittle earth underfoot. He steps over mounds of turned-up soil and fallen armor, the ground uneven and bone dry.

Hunter steps closer to me. He brushes his fingers over the back of my hand where it hangs limp at my side. His touch is light, hesitant. Like he’s not sure how to touch me after the feverish heat of yesterday.

I look up to meet his eyes.

“We’ll get through this.” He reaches forward and tucks a stray lock of hair away from my face. “All of it.”

The intensity of his gaze makes my heart clench. After what happened, he keeps looking at me with barely contained emotion behind his eyes … And I have no idea how I feel about it. Now that the heat of passion has faded and we’re face-to-face with reality again, all I feel is shame and guilt.

I wanted it, yes. I wanted him. But it shouldn’t have happened.

We’re still out here in a battlefield, running for our lives, with no plan beyond reaching the border of Annwyn. How can love possibly blossom under these conditions?

I swallow hard and nod, then turn to follow Tristan across the wasteland. The air is thick with the stench of death, and buzzards call overhead. Their dark shapes float lazily as they wait for fresh carrion.

After nearly an hour of walking, I almost trip over something half-buried in the dirt. At my feet lies a desiccated corpse clad in thick leather armor. A silver insignia is pinned to its chest, so tarnished I can barely make out the shape of a wolf. The man’s eyes, long since eaten by birds, are hollow sockets staring at the sky. His flesh is mummified, stretched tight over bones that look ready to crumble.

Ahead of me, Tristan and Hunter press on.

As we continue to pick our way across the battlefield, I start to notice the world around us is changing. The light is dimmer, as if a storm cloud has passed over the sun. But when I look up, the sky is clear, though hazy. It’s as if the sun itself is beginning to fade.

I run to catch up to Hunter. “Wait.”

He pauses, half turning back toward me.

“Something isn’t right.”

“Of course not,” Tristan says, turning to see why we’ve stopped. “We’re standing in the middle of a massive graveyard.”

I shake my head. “It’s not that. The light …”

All three of us look up. Hunter’s face changes, as if he’s now realized how dark it’s become.