In the blink of an eye, he flips his body to rest atop mine. I gasp, feeling his firm muscles press against my soft curves in all the right ways. Warmth gathers in my core. His mouth hovers just above mine. “Are you sure?”
For a second, I consider kneeing him in the groin, jumping to my feet, and running for Nightshade, but only for a second. I’m Myla Lewis, and I do not back down. I can handle this. Friends wrestle and goof around. This is fine. “Sure, I’m sure.”
He raises his hand, sliding his finger down my cheek. Heat pools between my thighs. “I don’t mind the thought of you beating me, Myla.” His arms are braced on either side of my head, his knees straddle either side of my hips. “Not at all.”
I stare at his full mouth. Every cell in my body wants to touch him, kiss him. What the hell is happening to me?
He offers me sneaky smile. “Want to know why that doesn’t bother me?”
A roll of thunder shakes the air. Maybe a storm is coming. Maybe I’ll get blasted into a million bits by lightning. Maybe I could care less. My inner lust demon has kicked to life with a vengeance. I open my mouth, hoping something snarky and cute will come out. Instead, I just nod. Total fail.
Lincoln leans in closer, licks his lips. “I don’t care because…” There’s a moment where I’m sure I’ll get my first kiss. “Because I’m about to beat your ass back to the stables.” Leaping to his feet, he races up to Bastion and mounts his horse.
I jump to my feet, a mixture of sexual heat and rage flowing through me. “You bastard! You lying sneaky evil sonuvabitch bastard!”
Lincoln rears Bastion, the horse balances firmly on his hind legs. “Catch you later.” He winks.
I stomp my foot and shoot him dirty looks, but all the almost-kissing-stuff has me flustered.
Lincoln leads Bastion onto the ground, then glances over his shoulder and grins. Setting his heels into Bastion’s barrel, he takes off at a gallop.
That clears my head in a hurry.
I’m not letting some hottie Prince bastard distract me with nasty talk that totally makes me wonder what he looks like naked. And on that topic, since when do I think about anybody naked? Well, except for Lincoln, whose bare belly must be particularly ripped.
I shake my head from side to side. Focus, Myla.
I race across the open ground and hoist myself onto Nightshade. “Let’s get him, Night.” Before the words are out of my mouth, she’s off at a gallop. I urge her onward, but we soon lose Lincoln and Bastion in the forest. I catch up with them both back at the stables.
The Prince stands by Bastion, an overly-satisfied grin on his full mouth. “Hey, loser.”
I pull Nightshade’s reins so we circle Lincoln and his horse. “Hey, cheater.” You’re never getting away with that Mister Sexy trick again, my friend. I point directly at his nose. “Besides, if I were you, I wouldn’t poke fun at someone who’s about to get you out of an evening of suck.”
“True. And you’re still one up on me, after all.” He bows slightly at the waist.
“That’s better.” I bow my head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of prep work to do for tonight.” I lean back in the saddle and twiddle my fingers at him.
He chuckles. “Have fun.”
“I will.” I pat Nightshade’s neck. “Girl, take me to–” She’s off at a run before I finish my sentence. As we speed across the countryside, I keep thinking one thing: this is going to be sweeeeeeet.
Chapter Sixteen
It’s dark by the time I return to the thrax compound. I settle Nightshade into her stall, then steal over to the mead hall, my evil cargo in tow: a cooler filled with the Reperio demons from my Biology class.
This is so awesome; I can’t stand myself.
I tiptoe up to a long wooden building with an arched roof. The only windows are two high vent-holes, one on either side of the building. I pause and adjust the collar on my fighting suit. Light flickers in through the window-holes. From inside the hall, the air echoes with the chatter of voices and clinking of silverware. Thrax are feasting inside.
Taking a deep breath, I position myself under one of the vent-holes. Using the thick outer planks, I scale up the building’s side and settle myself onto the window’s ledge. In front of me, the ceiling is filled with a network of heavy wooden beams.
I smile. It’ll be easy-peasy to crawl along the main beam.
I scan the hall below, careful to hide in the ceiling’s shadows. Two long wooden tables line the floor, both surrounded by thrax. The men wear crested tunics; the ladies are dressed in formal gowns of their house’s color. At the far end of the building, a minstrel sits beside a crackling fireplace, playing a soft tune on his lute. Servants bustle around, refilling wine glasses and plates. Mid-way along the far-right table, the King, Queen, and High Prince sit in throne-like chairs. Lincoln wears his black leather pants, silver chain mail, and black tunic.