She's the reason the heart of my family had been torn apart. Because that night, I'd unwittingly chosen her. Now, years later, she's my prey.
[Season 1 'Of Crows and Thorns']
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NELLE:- Cursed by a terrifying dark power, I'm a secret hidden in plai...
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I'd given in to Graysen. And I. Did. Not. Care.
I just wanted more. More of him. More of us.
What we were doing, how this was going to end in the morning, I'd deal with it then. But gods, could Graysen's touch make my body sing.
I kissed and nipped his throat, delighting in the feel of his bristly jaw tickling my cheekbone. He made a rough, desperate noise that had my fingertips digging into his hard chest. My body cradled his and my sex was spread wide. We were practically dry-fucking as my hips rocked, desperately seeking friction to ease the torturous pressure building inside my core.
His hands cupped my breasts, kneading my nipples, and I moaned, arching harder into his desirous touch. Threading my fingers around the nape of his neck, I drew him down for a kiss, luxuriating in the feel of skin-to-skin. My hands drifted down the back of his neck, and skimmed the knotted bone of his spine—
Brushed over bumpy skin—
What is this?
What am I touching?
My fingertips explored, hesitated in their search, then roamed his back further. His skin felt textural, like seagrass carpet.
I stilled. "Graysen?"
His gaze was lust-drunk, his kiss-swollen lips parted as they dipped lower to meet my own, and he made a humming noise as if encouraging me to ask my question.
There was something symmetrical about the roughened skin. I traced a line. A line?
Recognition crashed through me. Oh, my gods...
My entire body went rigid.
Graysen felt my reaction, startled, and jerked back. Fear slashed through his eyes, chased by remorse.
Remorse?
I scrabbled from beneath him and swiftly rounded his figure. My knees sank into the mattress as I knelt behind him.
My blood chilled like a lake frozen over.
My hand trembled as I touched his back and he flinched.
His head was bowed, spine rounded, as he sat on his heels, facing away.
Who? Who could have done this to him?
Someone had painted his entire back in pain. They'd ruined his flesh with welts and slices and puckered jagged marks. Only a whip could make this cruelty and bite with such symmetrical lines. And this many lines—gods, so many!—pain scored his entire back, no flesh remained unmarked. He'd had to have endured this time and time again.
Anger burned through me, sweeping faster and fiercer than wildfyre.
