I’m sure he could.
The memory of his cock pressed against my belly flashes before my eyes, but I quickly kick it aside. My reaction to him may be intense, unusually so, but that's not why we're here, and such emotions could be dangerous. Not only for myself, but for him as well. Best for me to steer clear of him and allow whatever flame he kindled to wither and die.
“Not him. Someone who's a bit less…memorable.”
“With the way he was glaring at any male who glanced in your direction, I'd wager you'll have a difficult time finding a willing partner.”
“Hmph.”
We lay there silent for a time, lost in our own thoughts. When enough time passes without a sound, I begin to suspect Amara has fallen back asleep until she suddenly whips the blankets off and springs to her feet.
“We're going to Aurora's shop today!” She lunges towards me and grips my shoulders, shaking me violently. “Get up, get up, get up!” With one last shake, she races toward her trunk and flips the lid.
I grunt and tug the blankets over my head.
“I know we can’t carry weapons here, but maybe Aurora will let me touch one,” Amara prattles over the sounds of rustling fabric as she rummages through her trunk. “Or hold one! Just for a second. I miss my blades.” She whimpers, then sucks in a gasp. “Maybe I'll just take one? Slip it into my boot? You know… just a small one,” she says, as if stealing something small isn't considered theft.
“Yes, because that would endear us to the princess,” I reply dryly, my voice muffled beneath the blanket. “Stealing from her.”
“I wouldn't steal it. I’d just take it and hide a few silvers for her to find at a later time. I'll even leave an extra coin or two!”
I laugh at what I like to call ‘Amara logic’ until I hear the latch of her trunk and the silence that follows, feeling those whiskey eyes drilling holes through the blanket.
“What are you doing? Get up!”
I tuck tighter under the fabric. “Five more minutes.”
“No fucking way!”
I hear two pounding stomps, then a brush of cool air as Amara whips the blanket off me.
“Hey!” I snatch at the blanket, but she jerks it outside my reach.
Ducking her head slowly near mine, she bares her teeth. “Get. Up. Now.”
“No!” Folding my arms over my chest, I fall back on the bed and shut my eyes, determined to ignore the psycho. A sigh of relief passes my lips once I hear the sound of her retreating steps. But knowing how obsessed she is with blades – and that she’s a fucking sociopath – I should’ve realized that was too easy. But I don't, so when she punches me in the cunt, I'm taken completely by surprise. “Aaaah!”
“I thought you'd be extra sensitive down there with all the rubbing you did last night,” she cackles. “Now, get dressed!”
Cupping my mound, I shout, “Fuck, Amara! That hurt!”
Placing my foot as gingerly as possible on the wooden step, I wince at its loud groan. My chest tightens as I wait for the crack of wood that will ultimately lead to my body falling through the broken boards. I'm not even sure how Zander made it up here. The tiny stairway is so narrow my shoulders brush against the walls, and the ceiling so low my hair snags on it. With Zander being twice my size, I’m positive he’ll have to walk sideways and hunch over.
A sigh of relief passes my lips as I step off the last step onto the first floor, but then my nose crinkles as I scan the room.
Uneven rectangular tables with mismatched chairs fill the gloomy space. The oak walls are cracked and discolored. The floor is crusted with dirt. Moth-eaten curtains are pulled back in an attempt to allow sunlight to stream through, but the filth smeared across the paned windows obstructs its path. There's even a stifling mugginess to the air. The only appealing aspect to the room could be the cold hearth, but I suspect the mountain of ashes at the bottom makes it more of a fire hazard than an aesthetically pleasing addition.
Last night I'd hoped the inn would look more appealing by day, but clearly I was wrong. It’s not the worst lodging any of us has stayed in. Far from it, actually. I was just surprised to see how neglected it is in comparison to the rest of Cascadonia. Even the shops that appear less profitable than others seem luxurious compared to some of the other towns we've traveled through, so I doubt the only inn within this caged city is struggling financially. No, I suspect the neglect has more to do with the female standing behind the bar, eyeballing me as if I'm a bug she'd like to squish beneath her foot.
Since arriving in Cascadonia, I haven't seen any beings that aren't attractive. Even those who aren't to my taste were appealing in one way or another. But by the looks of Lottie, I’m guessing that trait wasn't passed down to her. With her pale sunken cheeks, rail thin body, and limp brown hair pinned at the nape, I suspect the Air fae doesn't have many suitors knocking on her door. It’s not that she’s ugly; she has a willowy beauty that I’m sure is alluring to many. It’s more that her dour resting-bitch-face lowers the appeal of an otherwise simple attractiveness.
Amara steps off the last step and we move deeper within the room, Lottie following our every step with narrowed eyes.
And I assume that expression sends any remaining suitors running in the other direction.
Our chairs skid across the floor as we sit across from Zander and Tristan. I instantly reach for the steaming mug of coffee waiting for me. Raising the cup beneath my nose, I shut my eyes and inhale the nutty aroma, savoring the feel of the rising steam moistening my cheeks. Taking a cautious sip, I allow the bitter flavors to roll across my tongue, washing away any remaining grogginess.
Amara scrunches her nose. “How can you drink yours black? Ugh.”
Tristan passes two small bowls toward her and she proceeds to dump half the cream and practically all of the sugar into her mug. Stirring with a spoon, the liquid overflows onto the saucer.
Zander chuckles. “What I don't understand is how someone so bitter can drink something so sweet.”
Amara drops her spoon to the table with a clank, her lips set in an angry line. “I'm not bitter. I'm sweet. Sweet as fucking pie! Just the other day, when that male tried to rob me, I wanted to kill him, but did I? No. I just broke his arms and legs.”
Tristan arches a brow over his brown, almost black eyes. “I’m sure he was quite appreciative of being wounded and stranded in the middle of the wilderness with no means of defending himself.”
Amara snaps her fingers, pointing at him. “I know, right? I gave him hope. A chance to live. If I had killed him, he wouldn’t have had that opportunity now, would he? If that's not sweet, I don't know what is.”
“Sweet as pie,” I echo Amara’s words, but my sarcastic tone doesn’t seem to register with her as she emphatically nods her head.
The heated mug warms my hands as I lift it to my lips, but before I can taste it, I notice another more potent scent overshadowing the nutty aroma. Glancing at Amara and then Tristan, I easily dismiss them as the source, but when my gaze lands on Zander and I notice his disheveled state, I lean over the table and inhale a deep sniff. Only to stifle a gag when I'm instantly accosted with the overwhelming stench of horse and body odor.
“Zander, did you forget to bathe?” I ask, arching away from the offending smell.
Amara groans, slapping a palm to her forehead. “Please tell me you didn’t force those poor females at the brothel to endure your beastly stench? They deal with enough shit as it is!”
