Filed to story: When the Moon Hatched Book
Over us.
To take him into my body and give him a little bit of what he’s so obviously seeking in my eyes.
“Are you sure you want this, Moonbeam?”
The deep, gravelly words are coarse and sharp … yet somehow not. Somehow, they’re the softest words I’ve ever heard.
Cut me if you want me to stop …
Take what you want …
Are you sure you want this, Moonbeam?
Creators.
He’s definitely not the monster I thought he was.
“Certain,” I rasp, tilting my hips to offer him better access. “I want you in me, Kaan Vaegor.”
He groans, lids lowering as he looks at me with another tender crush of intensity that overrides that ache between my legs. Makes the one in my chest flare with renewed vigor, and I’m suddenly sure a hand just plunged down my throat, punched through the side of my esophagus, and gripped my stony heart.
He fists himself, lining up with me as I say, “But first you have to stop looking at me like it means something.”
He flinches, as if struck with the metal tip of a barbed whip. “You want a meaningless release?”
I nod, jerking my hips.
“Right.” Another flash of lightning, and I see his eyes have shuttered black. “Well … you won’t find that here, Prisoner Seventy-Three.”
His voice is monotone.
Detached.
Severed from … whatever this is.
He eases back onto his knees, dropping my leg, leaving me open and exposed—his thick manhood standing strong and proud and ready, webbed in veins, a pearly bead of precum leaking from the tip.
He pushes his hair back from his face, lips pinched into a tight line while confusion wrestles beneath my ribs.
Is he …
joking?
He’s ready, wanting. I’m here, asking for it. Why not just get it out of our systems so we can move on?
I blink, gaze lifting to his eyes, mine wide. “What are you—“
“Get up and go back to your sleep space. Get some rest. We have a long, nonstop ride when the storm clears.”
There’s such a chill in his tone that for a moment, I don’t breathe. Don’t move.
I open my mouth—
“Get. The. Fuck. Up.”
His words rumble through the room with such violence I’m certain I’m going to be crushed beneath them if I don’t move.
Fast.
I scramble off the seater and snatch my discarded pants, clutching them close to my chest as I edge back toward the stairs, maintaining our eye contact while my cheeks flame with a shame I don’t understand.
Don’t want to understand.
With a shake of my head, I spin and sprint up the staircase to the drum of the thunderous storm.
Islam the door behind myself and lean against it, lungs heaving, heart galloping. Still flushed and wanting between my trembling legs.
What the flying fuck was that?
I toss my hair back off my face, groaning at the smell of him now staining my fingertips. Like he seeped through my pores and melded with me, creating an aroma that’s so carnally us.
And it smells good. So damn good that part of me wants to dash back down those stairs right now and apologize. Let him fuck me like it means something. Let him beneath my skin.
The stupid part.
A flash of lightning ignites the room, and my stare narrows on the illuminated window being lashed at by the storm, head tipping to the side as a roll of thunder rattles the pane …
I’m small enough to fit through that.
Just.
Actually … this side of the dwelling supports a trellis perfectly convenient for me to use as a ladder!
Thank you, little crooked home.
I smile and shove off the door, crossing the room as I step into my short pants and cinch them at the waist, tucking my shirt in so there’s less of me to catch a snag. I may not be able to bring myself to kill Kaan Vaegor, but I still need to get away.
Far, far away, before any more damage is done.
I climb onto the raised pallet, then onto the side table. Reaching the window, I glance over my shoulder at the door before I pry open the latch and push the pane wide. The storm is drumming the roof like a thousand flat hands—a booming diversion for what little sound manages to squeeze from the window’s hinges.
Threading my arm through the hole, I grip the trellis and haul myself out into the deluge, feet tingling with a flush of paranoia. I don’t have time to dwell on the strange sensation of heavy raindrops pelting my skin as I wiggle free of the sleep space.
Get out—get out—get out—
I grip the knobbly trellis, trying to avoid the lush, fruit-laden foliage as I clamber down, drenched by the time I drop onto the sodden soil that squelches between my toes. A small zap of victory pulses through my veins, and I sprint for the jungle path, my heart pounding in rhythm with the angry storm.
I’m out. I’m free.
Now to put some distance between us.
My mind flashes to a different time, a different place. When I was escaping somewhere vile during a storm of a different variety, darting through eddies of snow that stuck to my hair and threatened to crust my lashes shut.
Hard to ignore the stark difference. Then, I was running from a place of pain, starvation, and suffering. Now, I’m running from a place of pleasure, wholesome meals, and deep belly laughs.
Don’t think about it. This is right.
This is right.
All that good stuff is not for you.
I repeat it to myself with every splashing step through puddles and over fallen logs, the jungle’s dense foliage seeming to swallow me as I trace the path we took to get here while the storm shrieks and shudders. Slowing, I emerge before the clearing Rygun landed upon earlier, relieved to see the beast hasn’t returned.
Sheets of rain fall around me, and I cast my gaze right, taking in the steep cliff that fringes the plateau.
If I run that way, there are only so many places I can go. And with a warrior king intent on hunting me—likely familiar with these mountains—I’ll be caught in no time.
But if I climb down …
I can follow the river all the way to the wall. I’ll have a constant supply of drinking water, a delightful view of the River Ahgt, shade coverage from the shoreline trees.
What more could I want?
I dash to the left, taking a moment to stare down the cliff and map my chosen pathway.