“Thank you.”
Dread still coiled deep within her, however, as they made their way to their pallets and settled with her nestled between Slay and the wall. When she closed her eyes, she surprised herself, not by obsessing on what would happen when Lucan reported her to the tyrant, but…
With a mouth-watering mental image of Slay’s gaze on her while he ruthlessly fisted his cock. She found she could create every minute shift of his expression, the way he licked his lips and bit them, and soon, she was downright turned on, so slick that she could feel it when she rolled onto her side. She wouldn’t do anything, surrounded by so many people, but it was a unique feeling, being aroused by someone who was right next to her and—
If he’s still awake, he probably knows.
Just then, Slay’s breath brushed her ear, sending tingles through that side of her body. “You’re thinking dirty thoughts again.”
Rowena didn’t even try to deny it. “Guilty. I’m remembering how you looked getting yourself off.”
He made a noise deep in his throat that created an answering ache inside her. “Cruel and unusual. That was hot for you?”
“Yes.” She squirmed a little more. Those urges grew more difficult to ignore, her sex thrumming insistently, and she rolled onto her stomach. The pressure against the rag pallet, even though her clothes, might be enough if she moved a bit more purposefully.
I shouldn’t…
“They’re all asleep,” Slay whispered. “If you’re quiet, nobody will know.”
Sometimes it was as if he could read her mind. He’d know, though, and that turned her on even more. With an urgent huff of breath, she slid her hand between her legs. Doing it like this was the fastest way she’d found to make it happen. Her cheeks burned as she scissored her legs and tried to hold her breath. Slay moved closer, not touching her, but his heat radiated toward her, and she could tell by his rapid inhalations that he was excited.
He put his hand near her lips, like he wanted to feel her silent gasps against his skin, and she latched on with her teeth, biting down to silence the moan when she came. With a silent shudder, she basked in the tingles spreading through her. Just a tiny orgasm, enough to take the edge off. Abashed, she released him, hoping she hadn’t done real harm.
“That was quick. I turn you on that much?” Slay whispered the question, another shiver of breath on her skin.
Relaxed now, she stretched and nestled her face against her forearm. “Most definitely. Sorry if I’m leaving you with…unresolved issues, but I’m about to pass out.”
His laugh sounded like a purr. “Worth it. I don’t even mind.”
A random, sleepy question occurred to her. “Why do they call you Slay? Is it because of your temper?”
“Partly. The joke was that I’d rather fight to the death than admit I’m wrong. But also, my last name is Slater.”
“Ah. A dual purpose nickname.”
“What’s your surname anyway? I don’t think you ever told me.”
She yawned, closing her eyes. Normally it bothered her to admit this. “Don’t have one, though I’ve been using Van Alastor since the prince saved me from the block.”
Of her own accord, she reached out and took Slay’s hand. So warm. Callused. Utterly unlike the tyrant’s.
I could never get those two mixed up, even in the dark.
For the first time in ages, hope sparked through her. If Slay gave her time, she might be able to move forward with him.
Ro fell asleep dreaming of the future.
Slay was harder than he ever had been in his life.
For Rowena.
Who he’d never truly touched. And yet it felt like they were lovers. No longer faking the show for curious onlookers. Nothing about that impression made any damn sense, but he wasn’t known for his logical brain. He had no clue what was happening between them. Possibly he’d regret all this later, when he got back to his normal life and started assessing the impulsive decisions he’d made right and left recently.
Not thinking about that now.
Slay laid there for hell knew how long, absurdly aware of her hand tucked in his. He let out a slow breath and tried to drift, but he kept circling back to how much danger she was in. Constantly. There was a ticking clock in the back of his head and his jaguar paced in the prison of his mind, snarling uneasily. The great cat wanted out of this hell hole even more than Slay did, and it had been so long since he shifted that he feared he might go feral the next time he did. No higher intelligence driving his actions, just animal instinct.
Finally, he winked out, but it felt like mere moments until six bells. Slay groaned as he opened his eyes and then stilled when he realized that Rowena was pressed up against him. No shin kicking this time, just her tucked against his side, breathing deeply in sleep as the rest of their work crew stirred nearby.
Fuck. I don’t want to get up.
“Best get moving,” another prisoner said.
“Rowena,” he whispered.
He didn’t touch her, but he said her name again, this time more firmly.
When she opened her eyes, her whole body went rigid at seeing his face so close. For a minute, he thought she might scream, and the abject terror in her silvery gaze broke his heart. Finally, she exhaled and the tension left her as she moved away from him.
Fuck. That bastard needs to die. Don’t much care how we get it done, but it’s happening.
“Sorry,” she said, scrambling to her feet with extra caution.
“You okay?”
“I was just a bit startled.”
Slay said, “I don’t think I grabbed you. Seems like you migrated in your sleep.”
“You’re really warm.” Her smile held a wistful note, as if she planned to savor the memory of being snuggled up to him.
Come to think of it, he’d never slept with anyone before Rowena. That was something he didn’t let happen when he was struggling to keep everybody happy. Fun fact, jaguars were shit at juggling and in the end, his balls ended up all over the floor. Groaning, he got up and tried to stretch away some of the kinks.
I miss showers. Even a cold one would be welcome.
Hygiene in the undercity amounted to a rag and bucket, and most didn’t bother. Consequently, the smell was overwhelming, though he’d learned to ignore it, a bit like pretending not to see the demon making faces through a window.
The morning went as usual with the same crappy breakfast. No wonder people had open sores and died young. It sucked imagining Rowena growing up here, tormented by Tycho Vega, having no idea what else was out there. Then Slay pictured her expression at finally seeing some of the world, and fuck, he wished he could’ve been the one to save her. He went back and forth on being pissed at Prince Alastor—yeah, he’d saved Rowena once, bullshit that he seemed to have abandoned her now.
“You look like you want to kill someone,” Ro said, as she followed the others toward the workshop.
Slay scowled. “Accurate.”
“Anyone I know?”
He shot her a look. “Probably best not to discuss it right now.”
“Understood.”
Once they got to the workshop, Slay made fancy dresses for hours, until his body screamed in protest and his spine might never be the same. Yet right next to him, there was a little girl working at the same pace. She couldn’t be more than eleven, and her face was filthy, more dirt than skin showing.