Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)

As someone who trained with Kyanite healers, I attended many births. I never allowed a mother to recuperate without checking on her. So, the following day, I wash, dress in a clean surcoat, grab my satchel, and head to Praxis’ cottage.

As I turn to the left in the center of the town and head toward the palace, the cottages get larger and more elaborate, and the people get ruder as I walk past. Many don’t meet my gaze. A few glare and turn away as I pass them.

I only knock twice on the door of the large stone cottage before it swings open, and Cenric greets me.

“Hello,” he says as he sweeps his vibrant blue eyes over me.

Even though the tall, dark-haired man stands casually, I still picture him in that square, executing those Malachites.

My chest squeezes as I resist the overwhelming urge to flee. “I have come to check on Briley and the baby.”

“You’re Sol.”

“You’re Cenric.” It’s the first thing that popped into my thoughts.

A smirk pulls at the edges of his mouth. “Indeed.”

“May I see her?” I ask.

Instead of moving or welcoming me inside, he folds his arms. “Praxis told me what you did for him.”

My throat turns dry as I think of Gabriel’s warning to not speak of the magical healing.

“I am happy he’s recovered.”

The door pushes open further, and Praxis joins his brother.

“Stop bothering Sol, Cenric.”

“I was not bothering her.” He steps outside and speaks over his shoulder. “I was simply trying to thank her for saving your life.”

Cenric leaves as I enter the cottage Praxis shares with Briley. The home is twice the size as mine, with a bigger main room, a loft, and three doors leading to other bedrooms. Inwardly, I frown as I think of the cramped place where Kassandra and Everly live.

Briley steps from one of the rooms holding the baby in her arms.

Praxis’ footfalls echo against the floor as he moves to where his wife stands. “Sol has come to check on Edvard.”

An instant frown tugs at Briley’s mouth as she speaks in a voice loud enough to carry to me. “I don’t want that woman here.”

My chest squeezes, but I don’t react. I just stand, waiting, hoping she’ll allow me to check on her and the baby.

“Bri—”

“—no, Praxis.” Briley’s mouth thins as she turns and disappears back into the room she came from.

The warrior shifts to look at me, regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” I muster a smile. “Has she been well? How has the child been?”

“Good. Both are well. The baby eats constantly, and Briley is moving about like she didn’t just give birth.”

I pull some herbs from my bag and hand them to him. “Make a tea out of these. They will help with healing. She needs to take it slow as her body adjusts.”

Praxis nods and accepts the loose bundle. “Sol…” His jaw clenches as he looks down for several breaths. “I am very appreciative of everything you did for me. I will never forget it. Please, don’t allow my wife to offend you.”

“She hasn’t offended me.” I offer him a reassuring smile. “Good day, Praxis.”

I exit the cottage and make my way back to the home I share with Gabriel. A part of me knew she wouldn’t allow me to examine her. The other part hoped she might. I needed to know she’s well, and the child is well.

Surely, a baby with the serpent birthmark means nothing. It has to mean nothing. Otherwise, I’m already failing to stop the spread of their darkness.

Frustration grips me as I open the door to my cottage a few moments later. An inviting aroma hits me when I step foot into the front room.

Gabriel turns from his place near the hearth. “I cooked for you.”

“You know how to cook?” Warmth invades my chest and nestles within my heart.

He cooked for me.

“I’m not an expert, but I know how to make soup.” He shrugs, dishes out portions in terracotta bowls, and carries them to the table.

As I sit, I think of the time I spent with the Bloodstone army and how they had women cooking for them. “When did you learn to cook?”

He sits opposite of me. “When I was a boy. My mother died when I was young, and my father wasn’t around. If I wanted to eat, I had to cook for myself.”

“Oh.” Sympathy wells up inside me as I think of him all alone.

I blow on the soup and take a sip. The richness of the flavors astounds me. Whatever he put into the soup complements the venison to perfection.

“It’s amazing. Thank you.”

He nods and eats his soup.

What changed in Gabriel? Usually, he’s not around for dinner.

“Earlier, I tried to visit Briley and check on the baby,” I say. “She wouldn’t let me examine her.”

“I’m not surprised. Kyanites slaughtered her parents when she was a child.”

I take a deep breath and lean back against my chair. “I see.”

Gabriel settles his hands against the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m aware of the hatred between our tribes.”

“And yet—” Gabriel plucks up his goblet, “—here we are.” He drinks as if saluting his words.

“Are we fools?” I ask as I think of every moment that has transpired since we first met.

“Definitely.” The lines near his eyes and mouth soften as he smiles.

I think of Kassandra no longer wanting to wed Luc. And I think of the shunning I receive the moment I step from this cottage.

The people here will never accept me.

My chest aches against that reality. That truth. The Bloodstone people hate me.

Most of the Kyanites felt the same. I wasn’t a healer with magic. I lived in a brothel with the undesirables. At least, the elite of Kyanite made them seem undesirable. In truth, the women who worked at Father’s brothel had high-paying clients, and they were well-educated.

Gabriel scoots his chair back and pats his legs. “Sit with me.”

“I am.”

He pats his thighs for a second time. “Here.”

Warmth tingles in my chest and blooms across my cheeks as I think of sitting on Gabriel’s lap. I have never sat on a man before.

“You want me to sit on your lap?”

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Did I not just say that?”

Anticipation grips me as I follow his request and perch on his lap. His hard thighs press against my bottom as he shifts me enough to skim his knuckles across my cheek.

“Your wound healed well.”

“The one you stitched?”

He nods and allows his knuckles another light skim. “Over time, the scar will fade more.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” It’s not like I see my reflection often.

“I like scars,” he says. “They remind us that we can overcome our past.”

“That’s a beautiful way to look at them.”

Gently, he brushes loose strands of hair from my face. “You are beautiful.”

“My skin is too pale.” They’re the first words to come to my mind. The first thing I always think when I peer in the looking glass.

He shakes his head. “It brightens your eyes, and they tell your story. Where you’re going. Where you have been.”

My breath hitches. Surely, they’re not that revealing.

Needing a distraction, I reach for his hand and bring it to the light of the torch. “Was this your mother’s?”

His gaze lowers to the gold ring on his pinky. “Yes.”

“Do you miss her?” I ask as I remember my mother, and how, even now as I think of her, my chest aches.

“Every day.”

“Father thought I was too young to mourn my mother, but I was old enough to build memories and to miss her terribly when she was gone.”

“I remember my mother always smelled like lemons,” Gabriel says, his words low, hoarse. “She had five trees near our cottage, and every winter, she’d pick all the ripe ones and make lemon tea.”

“How old were you when she was taken from you?”

“Seven.”

Overwhelmed by compassion, I frame his face in my hands. “We aren’t so different, Gabriel.”

“Yes, we are.” He allows his hand to glide over my bodice. “You’re a woman. I’m a man.”

Tingles ghost against my skin as he does it again—this time allowing his hands to brush my skin.

“That’s not what I meant,” I manage.

“I know.” He reaches for the hem of my surcoat and pulls it to my thighs.

I catch his hand and smile. “Did you ask permission?”

“Do I need permission?” he asks, his voice deep and doing crazy things to my pulse.

No. “Absolutely.”

He adjusts me until I’m wedged sideways across his body and my legs are wide enough to slip his hand between. My pulse throbs in my throat as he slides his fingers upward but jerks them back down before reaching the area between my legs.

“What are you doing?”

“Observing,” he says, his tone even deeper than before.

My skin warms as he allows his gaze to rove over my body. “What are you observing?”

“You.”

“Oh.” I play with the ribbon binding my bodice and keep my attention caught on his handsome face.

“You promised to touch yourself next to me.”

“B-but I…” I inwardly groan at the stammering.

“Show me how you pleasure yourself.”

“Gabriel…”

“Show me.” Boldly, he cups my breast through the fabric of my surcoat. “Do you touch yourself here?”

“Sometimes,” I admit.

“And here?” He slides his free hands along my stomach and to the juncture between my legs.

“Yes,” I say shyly.

He brushes his knuckles over my thighs. “Will you show me?”

“Yes, but I have a stipulation.” As I speak, I widen my thighs and slip my hand between my legs. “You must touch me too.”

Heat smolders behind his eyes as he watches me. “Where?”

“My breasts.” I skim over my burning flesh. “Will you?”

“Here?” He flicks his thumb across my nipple through the surcoat. The material brushes against my skin, rousing more throbbing in my core.

“Yes,” I say in a breathless whisper.

He does it again as I trail over the area that always draws more want. It doesn’t take much to start the crawl to my summit. I slow my movements, knowing I want this moment to last.

With a quick jerk, he yanks at the ribbons binding my bodice until it loosens enough to dip the material lower and free my breasts. Desire surges through my veins as he lowers his mouth and flicks his tongue across my nipple. I arch my back, bringing myself closer to him. To that want, to that need.

The sky above. I need so much more than this. I need him to consummate our marriage. I need to feel his skin beneath my fingers.

I could ask, but I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want any of this to stop.

I quicken my circles, rubbing that throbbing, that ache. Moans escape me as I climb even higher. He uses his thumb on my right breast and takes the other fully in his mouth. Tingles devour every inch of my body. It drives me straight toward the summit, where I dive willingly over the edge.

When my breathing evens and the moment eases, Gabriel stiffens and pulls my bodice up. I stir enough to feel his hardness beneath me. He groans and grips my hips, holding me against him.

“Gabriel,” I say, my voice low, desperate.

“Don’t move,” he breathes.

Everything in me wants to wiggle, to feel him beneath me, to get him to cave. I cannot after everything he gave me. He didn’t have to bring me to his lap and encourage any of this. Moving would be unnaturally cruel.

“I could touch you,” I say, my words merely an invitation. Not a lure to get him to bend to my will. Just an offering to give back what he has given to me.

“No.” He lets out a quick exhale, removes me from his lap, and stands. “Not tonight.”

My gaze lifts to his. Taut lines stretch across his brow, and he holds his jaw tight like he grits his teeth.

“Perhaps soon.” I straighten my surcoat as he nods and disappears into our room.

The pleasure ebbs, leaving me with a tightness in my chest. He’ll always throw walls between us, and I’ll never know what it’s like to truly be his wife.

As I turn toward the sofa and sit, a stark truth stabs me in the chest. I don’t deserve more. I never did. Not with what I intend. Maybe Gabriel was right all along to not bed me.

It’s better this way.