To Bleed a Crystal Bloom by Sarah A. Parker

Chunks of ice chase my movements as though caught on a line, dissolving to become one with the water in this deep, galvanized tub hidden behind a fall of black velvet. There’s a sconce above my head spilling light over my flushed body, illuminating curves that have never looked so plump and pink and—

I sit up in a dash of water and rage.

Hugging my knees close to my chest, I rock in little hammering motions that fail to distract my restless mind. The movement stirs water around that part of me and a moan slips out; one that scalds my cheeks because just behind the curtain, Tanith is changing my sheets.

But I just can’t help it.

I’m so sensitive—untouched need pulsing with its own carnal heartbeat, something that seems directly connected to the torrid roots digging low in my belly.

Demanding.

“Are you ready for more ice?” Tanith asks, her voice reminding me of a wind chime.

“I think so,” is my hollow response as I rock and rock and rock, bunched in a knot, letting the icy water strike that chord of pleasure in a delicate way.

I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I want to burst at the seams. Want to dip my head below the water and scream.

Thunder rumbles all around my tower, like I’m the beating heart of the storm. Usually, I’d enjoy bunkering down with a book or the blank canvas of an unpainted rock during this sort of weather, but my mind’s a riot of hyper-sensitivity, bored with my limited resources. This aching, bone-weary boredom, like my muscles are crammed full of energy I don’t have the space to expel.

My forehead prickles, and a bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face. My rocking motions turn sharp and desperate, sending water sloshing over the side of the bath.

Tanith draws the curtain, rolling linen sleeves to her elbows. She doesn’t seem to hold my previous behavior against me, and I no longer want to grip her by that glossy, chestnut hair and snarl in her face until she folds with submission. Thankfully.

Without her, I’m not sure how I would have survived the last three days.

“Warming up again?”

“Mmmhmm.”

She hefts a black bucket off the ground, cheeks reddening as she tips it over the edge. I watch the waterfall of ice tumble into my tub, those thick shards shrinking the moment they pierce the steaming surface.

Ice has nothing on this fire in my veins.

“Would you like me to scrub your back?” she asks, placing the bucket down and tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ears. She smiles, her pretty brown eyes warm pools against her tawny skin.

“Thanks for the offer, but not right now,” I murmur, empathizing with my sacrificial ice. Those shards shrink, giving everything of themselves until there’s nothing left to give.

But my fire continues to take and take and take.

Tanith dribbles more oil into the water and the sharp, spicy smell of bergamot perfumes the air—a robust scent supposed to aid in masking the potent bouquet of my heat.

Too bad it’s not all that effective.

I can still scent my desire to be filled. It’s a floral musk—like a field of roses in full bloom—and it’s mortifying.

“There’s a fresh robe laid out on the bed,” Tanith informs me as she retrieves the empty bucket with one hand, the other notched on her hip. “Hopefully this lot of ice cools you down enough that you can finally get some sleep.”

“Maybe ...”

She crouches next to the bath, looking at me with big, empathetic eyes. “I know it’s rough, but I promise it gets better. Once the fever breaks, you’ll feel like you own your body again. You just have to get through these next couple of days.”

“That feels impossible right now,” I admit, hating the lusty tone of my voice. It doesn’t matter that I’m speaking to my handmaiden—every word that’s come out of me since my heat struck has sounded like a proposition.

“I know. Look, I’ll let you get some peace,” she says, pushing to her feet. “Unless there’s anything else, I’ll return in a few hours to collect your goblet and deliver your evening meal.”

Actually ...

I sit a little straighter, movements suspended. “You haven’t seen any bluebells around, have you? I need more blue paint to finish my rock. If I can’t sleep tonight, it’d be nice to have something else to focus on.” To be fair, having the stems handy in case I manage to collect every other ingredient required to make more Exothryl would be a convenient bonus.

Tanith shakes her head. “I heard the gardeners complaining about the frost killing them all this year. But there could be some in the greenhouse?”

I deflate, chin resting on my knees as I jerk back into motion, sending more water splashing over the edge. “I’ve already cleared it out. Never mind.”

She gives an apologetic smile, lays another towel on the ground to sponge up the overflow, then leaves, my door closing behind her with a jarring clunk.

My spine stiffens, attention spikes, body stills.

The sound reminds my restless soul that there is a door. I’m not locked in.

... I can wander.

I’m not sure where I’ll go. I just know I don’t want to be here.

My hands dart out and I cling to the edge of the bath, white-knuckled, teeth gritted, muscles triggered to move.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. My heart is telling me I shouldn’t ...

But other parts of me disagree, and right now, those parts have a stronger sway.

I wait another few minutes, frozen with feline poise while I listen to Tanith’s pattering retreat down Stony Stem. The moment the sound tapers off, I drive out of the bath and am through the door on my very next breath, two steps down the spiraling stairwell before I realize I’m naked.

“Shit.”

I spin, leap onto the top landing, and sprint back into my room, snatching my robe off the bed. It’s light and airy, the perfect weight for my ... condition.

Not even bothering to dry myself first, I pull it on, tie it loosely around my waist, then I’m back out that door and barreling down the steps.

Self-restraint has never been my strong suit; neither has my ability to follow orders. To be fair, I’m surprised I lasted this long. Rhordyn should be proud.

It’s dark outside, shaded by the boisterous storm blanketing the sky, striking the ground with fluorescent bolts that illuminate my stairwell.

Honestly, I shouldn’t be in the tower during a storm like this. I might get electrocuted. Anyone in their right mind would agree my actions are entirely justified.

Each step matches the dull, carnal throb between my legs that only seems to intensify with the friction of my frantic motions. I’m moaning by the time I amble onto the bottom landing, robe hanging off my shoulder, the tie around my waist having lost tension from my hurried descent.

I glance down, figuring I should fix myself before I pop out into the main hall, then collide with a barricade of rock and go stumbling—all the breath hissing out of me as my back slams against a wall that’s equally unforgiving.

Sucking large gulps of air, I sweep sodden hair off my face and gasp at the vision of Rhordyn stretched out in the doorway.

His hands are gripping the archway’s peak, and he’s leaning forward, hanging all his weight on the corded brawn of his arms.

His bare arms.

He’s topless, his tattoos iridescent in the low light leaking off a nearby wall sconce, contouring the bricks of his body into a beckoning work of art. The bulk of his upper body tapers to a V, punctuated by a fine trail of black hair that disappears beneath the low-cut waistband of form-fitting pants.

Pants that do nothing to hide the powerful lines of his legs and the large bulge between them.

I press my knees together, the sutures of my composure stressing.

He’s a casual wall of flexing might, his features savage, and there’s war in that stare scoring across my skin.

He shifts his weight, hands dropping to his sides.

The action alone feels monumental.

“You told me you wouldn’t leave your room,” he rumbles, the cadence of his voice bruised with warning.

He stalks forward, and the air seems to shift, accommodating his advance. He plants his hands either side of my head, two physical barriers as solid as the wall at my back.

Every cell in my body surrenders to his closeness, like the ocean tiding to the moon’s hungry pull.

Inch by inch, my eyes brave the voyage up the regal planes of his body until I’m peeking from beneath a fan of lashes, knees almost buckling from the wrath stamped across his face.

“You told me you understood.” His head cants to the side. “So why are you here, Orlaith?”

I swallow, the sound a splinter in the silence. “Because I ... I need to move—”

“No,” he replies on a bestial growl that attacks my exposed shoulder. The upper swell of my breast. “You need to fuck.”

I pant hot, shuddered breaths, that fire dealing sensual blows between my legs that almost leave me incapable of holding my weight.

Yes.

Yes, that’s exactly what I need.

His gaze flicks down as he makes a low, abrasive sound, coaxing my skin to pebble. My hips push forward, lured by his closeness ...

His smell.

It’s there ... somewhere between us. Something my body needs.

Something it’s desperate for.

Rhordyn draws deep, his expanding chest pinning me to the wall, the world seeming to hold its breath with him. Even the sky stops rumbling for a few tense moments.

His eyes close, face twisting, and though we’re pressed together by what feels like gravity, it’s as if there’s an impassable abyss cleaving us apart.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re sheets of cold, black ice.

“Go back up those stairs. Now. And lock the fucking door.”

... No.

My entire body screams it loud enough I swear the silence quakes.

“But—”

“Now, Orlaith! My patience is unbearably thin.”

With a large strip of my naked body bared but hidden by our closeness, I don’t dare do as he asks, instead pushing my hips forward.

He whips away so abruptly I almost fall into his current, willingly or not.

Back pressed against the opposite wall, he watches me like I’m all of his worst nightmares rolled into one inconvenient package. “Five ... four ... three ...”

My stomach drops.

For once in my life I listen to that voice inside and run, taking the stairs two at a time, robe slipping down my body.

With every step, another louder, more violent one follows, landing my heart in my throat and sending lashes of fire to every inch of my skin.

I whimper.

His brutal footfalls clap with the thunder and the rain and the bursts of light, getting louder ...

Louder ...

There’s a slickness between my thighs that makes each ascending step feel like a punishment, and my knees are quaking by the time I make it to the top.

A cold breath hits the back of my neck seconds before I dart into my room, slam the door closed, and dash the deadlock into place. My forehead lands against the star-freckled mural, pinched nipples exposed to air that’s nowhere near cold enough, because those flames are no longer dancing inside me ...

They’re a hungry, raging inferno that’s threatening to ruin me.

Turning my head to the side, I dissect the silence between the heaving beat of my breaths, listening, listening ... until Rhordyn’s heavy footsteps begin a glacial descent down my stairs.

I spin, letting my back drag down the door. Skin grates off my spine, but I hardly feel the pain over the ache between my legs.

My bare ass settles on the cold, stone ground, and my entire body jolts with the contact as I picture something else grinding against that part of me. Spreading me. Sinking in.

Claiming.

My trembling exhale is his, though he’s not here to receive it.

The Safe is right next to my head, empty like this feeling low in my stomach, and this thing inside me is not okay with the latter.

In fact, it’s furious.

That fury knows only an insatiable hunger, forcing me to grind against the ground in stiff, jerky motions that do nothing to suppress this agony—rather fueling it into something wild and unleashed.

It’s not until a droplet of moisture lands on the swell of my bare breast that I realize I’m crying.