Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
“Most would not.” His fingers glided along the curve of my waist.
I thought about what he’d shared with me about the past world. “Did those who lived before the Great War know about the Wychwoods?”
“If they did, it was forgotten, but there would’ve been signs upon entering the woods that they treaded on sacred ground. Warnings that had to have been ignored. It was the destruction of the Wychwoods that woke the firsts.”
In a way, it was hard not to be angry with our ancestors when it seemed like they’d dug their own graves almost willingly. “There are Hyhborn that are born, right?” I asked. “I’m not talking about the caelestias.”
“The children of Deminyens are born and they age just as a caelestia or mortal, but perhaps slower.”
“That’s what I thought.” I paused. “Do you have children?”
“No.”
I didn’t know why I was relieved to hear that, but I was. “I’d heard that Deminyens can actually choose when to have a child. Like both parties have to want that for a child to be created. Is that true?”
“It is.”
“Must be nice,” I murmured.
“And you?” His hands slipped up my back again. “Have you had children?”
“Gods, no.”
Prince Thorne laughed. “I take it you aren’t fond of children?”
“It’s not that. It’s just what kind of . . .” I stopped myself. Grady’s words resurfaced. Why would I want to bring a child into this world? That was a damn good question for most, but for me? Even more so. How could I even touch my child?
“I understand,” he said quietly.
I opened my mouth, but closed it, thinking that maybe he did understand that I wouldn’t be able to give a child the life they deserved. That I feared that I would end up repeating history. I didn’t want to do that to a child. I couldn’t. But there was no way he could know how truly difficult it would be for me.
I cleared my throat. “Anyway, you said that things can go wrong during the creation?”
“If the process is disturbed, the creation is interrupted.” He slid his hands down my arms, catching the sleeves of my gown. The breath I took snagged as the silky material slipped from my arms and from my hips, pooling at my feet. “What is unearthed is even less mortal than a Deminyen.”
A chill hit my exposed flesh. “You’re talking about the ones who don’t look like us? Like the nix?”
“In a way,” he said, his palms grazing my ribs once more, chasing away the coldness. “The nix are awakened early on purpose.”
My mind went back to the last time I was in this chamber. “Is that what you meant when you talked about not trusting those who created the nix?”
His breath touched the nape of my neck, and then I felt his lips there. “Yes.”
I wanted to ask him why one would attempt to disturb the process, but his hands made their way to my hips. His fingers slipped beneath the thin lace and he began to lower it.
My pulse sped up as I looked over my shoulder, seeing only the top of his bowed head as he drew the cloth down my legs, and then that too joined the gown on the floor. His mouth brushed against the curve of my ass, scattering my thoughts. Then his lips glanced off the dip of my lower back, the center of my spine, and then the nape of my neck as he rose once more.
“Tell me something, na’laa,” he said, turning me in his arms. “Is that how you survive now?”
I looked up, my gaze immediately locking with his. The blue had deepened to a color like the sky at dusk, seeping into the other hues. “What do you mean?”
He gathered my hair, dragging it back over my shoulder. “Do you still survive by doing whatever is necessary?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
Thick lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “Is that why you decided to stay tonight?”
My stomach skipped. “No.”
“Truly?”
A tremor skated down my arms as I lifted them, curling my fingers along the sides of his tunic. In my chest, my heart pounded as I tugged his tunic up. Silent, he took over, removing his shirt, so I reached for the flap on his pants. Unhooking the buttons felt nothing like the first time I’d done this with him. Nor did it when I drew the soft, worn material of his pants down.
“Yes,” I answered as he stepped out of his pants. I placed the palms of my hands against his stomach, eyes closing as I soaked in the feel of his smooth skin beneath my hands. Another tremor went through me. “Truly.”
The Prince said nothing as I ran my hands over his chest, thinking about how his flesh really was made of stone. For several moments, I allowed myself to get a little lost in just touching him. The friction of his hard skin against my much softer hands. The tight dips and rises of his stomach. The corded muscles. I had no idea what I must’ve looked like to him, but the novelty of touching another was far too strong to resist. He didn’t stop me. He just stood there, allowing me to explore, much like I allowed him to do the same, and for that, I didn’t think he could ever understand what he’d given me as I lowered myself onto my knees before him, the stone of the floor as hard as his skin but cold.