White Horse Black Nights (The Godkissed Bride, #1)(91)

Rian nods, his half-masted eyes grilling into me like he can read my lies but isn’t going to call me out on them.

He murmurs, “Of course, songbird.”

Placing a hand on the base of my throat, I slip through the raucous attendees, who’ve returned to dancing and drinking and fucking each other with their eyes. Struggling under the unwieldy weight of the wings, I head toward the balcony—and then double back to the rear entrance, and slip out when no one is looking.





Chapter 30





Wolf





Blood drips from the gash in my hand as I storm into the hallway. I can’t get away from that fucking party fast enough. So many stinking bodies. That jarring fae music. The deafening cheers when Rian had his hand all over Sabine’s ass.

Fuck.

Here I go again, fisting my hand so hard it’s bleeding more. Where’s a damn cloth . . .

The southern hallway is dark, its candelabras intentionally half-lit to foster a secretive air. Couples have already taken advantage of the darkness’s cover. In nearly every alcove I stride past, shadowed forms rut together in winged masks, playacting like they’re fae. The idiots. I hate Sorsha Hall’s parties. I’ve never understood people’s adoration of the fae—what have they ever done for us?

A woman’s high-pitched moan of pleasure stops me in my tracks, and makes me briefly shut my eyes. For a second, it sounded like Sabine. Behind my eyelids, all I see is her perched in his lap with his hand on her bare thigh. When she kissed him, it took all my strength not to drag her off his lap, wrestle her to the floor, and fuck her in front of the whole damn court until there wasn’t a shred of doubt who she belonged to.

Damn Rian. Damn this whole fucking castle.

I grab a crumpled napkin from where it’s fallen off someone’s plate and wrap it around the bleeding gash on my knuckles. Knotting it tightly, I slump back against a wall, tucked away in a seldom-used hallway lined with storage closets, where no one will see me rest my head against the cool stone.

What the hell am I doing?

I have to get my shit together. I have to get Sabine out of my head. Something bad is happening in Astagnon, and there’s fucking blood in the water. There are so many trails to follow, so many possible leads. Where do they all come together? What does King Rachillon know that we don’t? Are the gods truly awakening? Are all his preparations—breaching the border wall, kidnapping godkissed people—to prepare for their return?

All these questions screech to a halt the second I smell violets on the air.

Like a predator, my eyes snap open.

Twenty paces away, Sabine slips quietly out of the ballroom and tiptoes down the hallway opposite me. My spine straightens in disbelief at her boldness. Sneaking out of her own engagement party? What does that little winged wildcat think she’s doing?

Hugging the shadows, she moves with purpose down the hallway. The same woman as before moans from the alcove, and Sabine freezes, presses a hand to her chest, then continues. I stalk her from behind, curious about what she’s up to. She knows there’s no escape from Sorsha Hall, so what’s her aim?

At the end of the hall, she pauses. She stands still for a few seconds like she’s listening. Nearly inaudibly, she whispers under her breath as though voicing a thought. “Who are you? What do you want?” It’s so quiet that only someone with my hearing could pick up on it.

A second later, she turns toward the lower level stairs with purpose again.

Yeah—I don’t like this.

The only things on the lower level are some potato storage and the dungeon, neither of which Sabine has any business rooting around. It’s time to cut her little adventure short.

With swift, silent steps, I move up behind her and wrap my hand around her mouth from behind. My other hand locks around her waist. Her damn costume wings are between us, the feathers clogging my mouth, my heavy shoulder plates getting in the way, too.

She screams into my hand and bucks as I spin her around to press her back against the wall. It’s too dark for her to recognize me right away. Wild-eyed, she struggles to slam her knee against my groin—hey, at least she remembered what I taught her—but I easily anticipate the strike and block her.

“Quiet,” I hiss. “It’s just me.”

Her screams dry up, but her pulse is still shouting. Her breasts rise and fall like creamy pillows, shoved up and on display from her dress, the wings’ harness squeezing them together. She stops struggling, but her eyes are still primed to fight.

Her wings crumple against the wall as I push her backward again. “I’m going to take away my hand now, and you’re going to tell me where you’re going.”

Slowly, I remove my palm from her damp mouth, sliding it down to snare her neck instead.

Baring her teeth, she snarls, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my job to protect you. Did you think I’d let you out of my sight?” Her perfect breasts continue to heave, straining against the harness. “Now tell me where you’re headed.”

“I just needed a second of quiet!”

“You’re lying,” I say lazily, pressing my thumb to her jugular, where her pulse reveals her deception.

Squirming under my grip, she spits out, “Rian has secrets—you’ll forgive me for wanting to know the truth about who I’m supposed to marry.”