“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you… bad.”
“I want you too… but…” Then she opens her eyes. “Is this your doing or am I naturally drawn to you?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
I press down on my pinky ring, but it’s not enough. The needle attached to the underside bites me, but doesn’t lift the sexual haze.
“Put up… your defenses,” I grate out. Rationality slips. The monster of need devours my resistance. Getting back into her floating well of power is all I can think about. “I can’t fight myself… I need you to…”
Everly is all eyes and lips and skin, and it’s all I can do not to stroke myself over my pants. But if I touch myself, I’ll soon touch her. And if I touch her... I’m about to hurl myself from the carriage, Riven’s request be damned, when something solid and claw-like… something that feels like bark scrapes my wrists and yanks back. My invisible wings are pinned between my arms and the back of the seat. It looks as if my fists are caged in vines. I’m trapped.
Thank the fucking darkness.
I don’t struggle, because I want the vines’ illusion of impenetrability. I can’t get to her, so my rationality will return. Slowly, the burn of lust becomes a buzz in the background, and I can think.
I’m free again. Sort of. My hard-on rages, but I’m not controlled by it. I roll my head to get the tension out of my neck. Then I look over at Everly, and freeze.
She’s crying. Oh, no. Her tears will shatter this illusion and I would do anything, including break free from these bonds, to comfort her.
“Please… don’t cry.” I test my bonds, and they hold. It’s a blessing and a threat. Now that her tears are involved, the comfort of being secured turns into panic.
“I’m sorry…” she breathes. “I’m sorry.” Her hand covers her mouth, and she looks horrified.
“What for?” My voice is smooth, but desperation rises to my heart. My instincts scream to go to her, to take what I want. I know this desire is owing to her inexperience, and the alpha within me, but fuck. She’s pinging every box.
She waves at my hands. “I’m sorry.”
Oh, sweet mercy. If I knew my creature protocol—and I do know it, despite what Count Dick says—dryads prize freedom above all else. Detaining me, as she is, is a direct offense to her sensibilities.
“You’re crying because you think you’ve jailed me?”
She nods.
“Don’t cry, Everly,” I say in the sweetest voice I can manage, leaving out innuendo, lust or sexual suggestion. “I need this. Crave it.”
“Crave what?”
I motion to the bark restraints. “Those.”
“Why?”
I pause because what I’m about to say is personal—to all incubi. But since she’d shared her soul with me, and because she’s crying like she’s the worst person in the world, I reveal a little-known secret. “Keeping myself in check is a daily struggle. You’ve freed me,” I say as I look down at the bark around my wrists. I try to wiggle my arms but they won’t give. “What you’ve done for me… is a gift.”
She drops her hand and gives me a soured glare. At least she stopped crying. “How is trapping you a gift?”
“Do I look any less aroused than I did a minute ago?” I smirk and shimmy my hips back and forth, bringing her glare down to see the bulge in my pants. A pretty big bulge, if I do say so, myself. But, hey, incubi are known for having monster cocks. So… shrug.
She fights to tear her gaze away from my crotch and she loses. “You don’t… I mean, you look aroused,” she says finally. Then swallows hard.
I preen at her interest. “Creature protocol.”
“What?”
I nod, figuring she wouldn’t understand. “Pretend you have a friend. That friend never goes away, and your friend is always trying to get into someone’s pants, anyone’s pants, and is taking you along for the ride. Then let’s say that friend brings you into some amazing sexual experiences, but there’s one problem. Attending to this sexual hunger means your partner, not the friend that got you into all this, is drained of energy. Shit, just touching them is a life suck. Maybe one of your partners even dies because of it.” Shit, this got dark fast. But it’s the truth, and she has to understand what she’s done is save her life and, ultimately, mine.
“You wouldn’t do that.” Her eyes are round and full of hope. She’s so innocent. So pure. Fuck, she doesn’t belong here, in Dread. The citizens here would chew her up and spit her out.
“I haven’t killed anyone… yet.” The sadness punctuates the very real possibility that I could suck the soul out of a friend, a stranger, a loved one. “But that’s only because I’ve chosen partners who can handle me.”
“And you think I can’t?” She raises her chin in defiance and then realizes what she just said. Her defiance slips and embarrassment overcomes her.
The smile that creeps on my face chases away the melancholy. “Who brought whom into one’s core?”
She blushes. “I didn’t know what you were at the time.”
“Don’t they teach Identify at the school of Divination?”
“How did you know I’m from the Academy of Divination?”
Oh. What a poor spy I am, giving away such clues. “Don’t all dryads go there?”
“No.” She perks up.
Do I see pride sparking in her chest?
“But casting Identify on someone is just rude,” she continues. “It’s like saying ‘I don’t trust you, and I don’t give a crap about your privacy.’ Does that seem right to you?”
“Everly.” I speak low. “That’s exactly why you should cast it here.”
Her nose flares. She’s going to argue.
“If you’d cast it on me,” I purr in that way that
