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

More? I think. Hell, I’ve already gone too far.

The realization of what I’ve done douses me like a barrel of ice water over my head. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is Lord Rian’s intended, and I’ve got my mouth all over her. A gut punch of guilt hits me hard enough to stun. What’s wrong with me? I’m sick. I’m broken. I huff out a curse, and Sabine’s eyes go wide.

Her pink lips are swollen. Her sweet face mirrors my own shock at what we’ve done.

I lift her by her hips out of my lap, dropping her ass on the ground. Then I shove myself to my feet, dragging a hand down the sweat soaking my face.

“Lady Sabine.” My voice comes between heaving breaths. “Forgive me.” I pace, unsure of what to do with my hands. “That will never happen again, I swear it.”

She touches a stunned hand to her lips like she can still feel the ghost of my mouth. The worst of everything is that I can still smell her desire, and I know that if I kissed her again, I don’t think she’d fight it.

“Basten—”

I can’t hear any more. I can’t be around her scent. I’m not strong enough to listen to her thumping heart and soft little moans. I stalk off far enough into the woods so that I have some space from her, but am still within range to listen for danger. Adrenaline pumps unchecked throughout my body. Guilt marks me like blood that I’ll never be able to wash off. Rian will instantly take one look at me and see my sin.

“Fuck.” I slam my fist into the side of a tree, growling like an animal. But no amount of pain can fix the broken parts inside of me.





Chapter 13





Sabine





In the morning, neither Basten nor I say a word about the kiss. We go about our morning chores of boiling water for tea and cleaning up camp, as though he didn’t have his mouth all over mine, and I didn’t have my thighs straddling his.

Everything with him, since we woke, has been “yes, my lady” and “as you wish, my lady,” as though an overabundance of propriety can make up for breaking his master’s trust. Anyone could see he’s drowning in guilt, but I couldn’t care less about betraying my future husband. I’ve sworn no vows yet. The engagement wasn’t even my choice. Everything about this ride is forced by Lord Rian, and so he’s earned no loyalty from me.

Still, it was foolish. Basten is no friend of mine. He would throw me to the wolves if his master ordered him to. He doesn’t even want to be here, tending to a spoiled lord’s daughter instead of stalking prey through the woods. I trust that he will keep me safe, but not because of any loyalty to me—only because I belong to his master.

I don’t know what came over me last night. Locked up in the convent, I’ve been starved for human touch. So many nights I laid awake, wondering what a man’s body felt like. I would sneak to the chapel to flip through the Book of the Immortals to look at the most wicked illustration, belonging to Immortal Alyssantha, the Goddess of Sex. Those portraits showed Alyssantha and her lovers in all kinds of compromising positions that stirred a heat between my legs.

So wasn’t it inevitable that I’d buckle under the first man’s touch?

Basten stews in his guilt, and I wallow in my anger. Here I’ve been fantasizing about my first kiss for years, and it had to be with a brute who dumped my ass in the dirt after pawing me.

“We should be getting on the road, Lady Sabine,” Basten says without looking at me.

Hatred makes my steps stiff as I tug off his shirt, smash it into his chest, and start to comb my hair over my bare breasts. He keeps his gaze in the opposite direction, like his eyes will burn out of his head if he even side-eyes my naked body.

Myst, I call. The brute says it’s time to go.

She walks over, swinging her head between Basten and me like there is a visible, taut line of tension between us.

She whinnies. Mate?

I gape, utterly horrified. At least only I can hear her voice in my head. No, we didn’t mate! Don’t you dare suggest something like that again!

She snorts again, skeptical.

I mumble curses as I climb onto a stump and swing a leg over her back. Grumpy, I rearrange my loose hair to try to cover every inch of exposed skin. It’s been almost two weeks since Suri helped me wash my hair with scented soap, and now the full, soft waves that her braid made are clumpy and oily.

Basten swings his rucksack onto his back and, wordlessly, we return to the forest road. He walks a few paces ahead, and I bore holes in the back of his head with my glare, cursing him for existing. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here right now, shamed and naked, thighs rubbed red from riding bareback, in dire need of a bath. I’d be in Adan’s arms. It would be Adan’s mouth on mine. Adan’s hands in my hair. Adan’s hard body atop my own.

Basten has made it crystal clear that escaping from him isn’t an option. I refuse to try again and put Myst or any other animal at risk of what happened to the wildcat. And yet, I’ll be damned if I let these men steer my future. I will never marry the man who forced me on this obscene ride. Somehow—either before we arrive in Duren or after—I’ll evade every gilded bond they’ve shackled me with.

I have to send a message to Adan.

Since I can’t meet him as planned, I need to let him know that I haven’t given up on us. It’s the least I can do after letting Basten kiss me.

The thing is, sending a message should be simple for a godkissed girl who can talk to animals, but it isn’t. Birds are able to travel anywhere in Astagnon within a day, but they don’t think as humans do. Even if one volunteered to help, it would be impossible to explain directions. They don’t understand the concept of town names, road names, or even people’s names. The best they can manage is navigating by natural landmarks, but that’s a challenge, since Basten has taken us into a forest where every valley looks the same.

I raise my voice, daring to break the tense silence that’s pervaded us all morning. “You said there was a crossroads ahead, right?”

“A few miles ahead, yeah. We’ll take the fork east, sticking to the woods.”

The Sisters of Immortal Iyre didn’t bother to teach me geography, so my knowledge of Astagnon’s topography is fuzzy. The best I can rely on are the few conversations I overheard in my father’s manor house, between him and Suri discussing the path I’d take to Duren.

“If we go straight at the crossroads,” I suggest, “That would take us north to Blackwater, right? On the Innis River?”

Basten grunts. “We aren’t going north.”

My thinking is that if I can get to a town on the Innis River, I can find a bird willing to carry a message to Adan. The Old Innis Mill is situated inland along that same waterway, and with its large waterwheel, it should be a clear enough landmark for a bird to recognize. All it would have to do is follow the river until it spots the waterwheel.

“But heading north would be a nearly direct path to Duren,” I press. “Otherwise, we’re wasting time skirting through the forest.”

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