To Bleed a Crystal Bloom by Sarah A. Parker

My paintbrush swirls over the rock from Whispers, leaving threads of teal that clash with ... everything else.

“Dammit,” I hiss, tossing my brush at the table and watching it spit color all over the wall.

I was hoping the waterproof paint I mixed for Kai’s stone would be the answer to at least one of my problems. Though it’s not deep-ocean blue, I figured it would suffice for the final whisper in my mural.

But it’s not right. I’ll have to wait until next season to place this final piece.

I scan the collection of colorful rocks lined up on my table, all different shapes and sizes. Some are painted to look like miniature gardens; some are scenes from around the castle or from the books I’ve read. Some are bits of my nightmares—the stones I paint when my subconscious continues to peck at me long after I’ve woken.

It usually brings me a sense of calm, but right now, that’s not the case.

I shove wet hair off my bare shoulder and push off the stool, releasing a moan, that intimate part of my body that’s flushed and swollen instantly mourning the cold, slate surface I’ve been grinding against since my last bath.

My breasts are so achy and heavy and full, I can’t bear to look down. My skin flares with a parched sort of heat, thirsty for even the slightest brush of a fingertip.

I didn’t ask for this, I don’t want this, and I hate what it’s doing to me. How it’s tied me into an animalistic knot, reprogrammed my mind into thinking there’s only one thing I need to survive: hot, feral sex. Deep sex. Crippling sex that digs up into me and wets my insides.

This heat can go to hell.

I look through water-streaked windows to a misty Vateshram Forest. To the wild ocean being lashed with wind and a whitewash of rain.

Five days of being stuck up here, out of routine. Five days of being naked, hot, and constantly wet.

Wet with sweat, bath water ...

Wet between my legs.

A crack of lightning opens the sky and I frown, thoughts turning to Kai out there at the mercy of the elements. He once told me that he lost a friend to a lightning storm, and it planted a permanent seed of concern.

I miss him. Wish I could swim with him—get tossed around by those angry waves until I feel normal again.

I’ve forgotten what that’s like.

Pushing past the heavy door, I step onto my balcony, the rain rinsing my scorched, naked skin.

There is no sizzle, but I feel it. Shudder from it. Feed from it.

I grip the balustrade and tip my head, letting the fat drops cool my face. My shoulders. My bare breasts. I even open my mouth and swallow some down, hoping it will chill me from the inside.

But those roots low in my belly are still seeking somewhere to delve. Still demanding my hips to loosen.

I don’t like feeling as if I have no control over my body. And without all my daily tasks to occupy my mind, I have too much time to think. That path always rouses the anxious creature sitting heavy in my chest—the one that shrinks and swells at his own leisure and beats me from the inside. I just want to crack my ribs and set him free, but I can’t ...

Time after time, he lures my mind to the edge of that gloomy chasm. Forces me to look down into the murk, then holds my eyes open when I try to squeeze them shut.

Screams for me to jump.

Despite my unwavering curiosity, I can’t bring myself to make the leap ... certain I’ll be spat back out in pieces.

I let my chin fall, hands balled into fists, that carnal fire seeming to simmer from an endless supply of fuel. Another reminder things are changing, and I hate it. Wish I could cut this sensation right out of myself, and that’s how I know things are really bad.

Fingers flexing, I draw a deep breath meant to loosen my chest.

A vicious howl rips through the forest, gouging the air. My eyes pop open and I freeze—chilled to the bone, colder than I’ve been in days. My throat constricts, breaths coming in short, sharp sips that do nothing to sate my sudden urge to scream.

I don’t have the air in my lungs to belt it out as a different sort of scream shatters my ability to stand.

My knees collide with stone.

The very human sound is snipped like a blown candle flame, but still the wail echoes in my mind, joining a chorus of phantom cries that ripple up from my internal chasm.

Not real. All in my head.

But that initial sound ...

There’s a Vruk down there somewhere, and Rhordyn needs to know.

I stumble to my feet and stagger inside, snatching my robe off the bed on my way past. I’m nearing the bottom of Stony Stem when Baze’s voice chisels the air, and I stop short of the doorway to the fifth floor corridor, back pressed against the wall.

“It’s an entire pack. Shattered a hole in the fence and tore through that small village on the outskirts of Lorn. The sprite said it was over before anyone even knew it had started.”

There’s a responding grunt that’s like an ice-pick chipping off parts of me, and I slide into a slab of shadow I doubt will cloak the scent of my pheromones, but it’s worth a shot.

I hear a lock clanking, a door dragging open, heavy footsteps that still too quickly. I don’t have to peek around the corner to know where they are. There’s only one door opposite the base of Stony Stem—the lonesome one that has borne the unsuccessful brunt of my hairpin too many times to count.

“Fuck. You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“It’s not your concern,” Rhordyn says, his voice nothing short of lethal.

Something inside me goes deathly still.

“Rhor ...”

“No.”

Baze clears his throat, and even from here I can feel tension stiffening the air. “Well, why don’t you as—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Baze. I refuse to take more than the bare minimum. End of conversation.”

I peel off the wall, arching like a flower seeking the sun.

Baze is emerging through the doorway, eyes heavy as though he hasn’t slept in days. Rhordyn appears next, wearing his signature black pants and a loose button-down rolled to his elbows, hair pushed back from the chiseled structure of his face.

The vision of him has hot blood rushing to my lower abdomen; has me biting my lips shut to trap the mortifying moan that’s sitting on my tongue.

He begins to push the door closed, and I stretch a little further, squinting, trying to see what lies within the hollow of darkness that’s swiftly disappearing.

He pauses, chest expanding, head snapping to the side. A growl rumbles out of him, almost tangible, and he slams the door shut—his muscles seeming to press against the confines of his shirt.

Baze curses below his breath, and I dart back, fusing with the puddle of shadow.

“You go,” Baze snips. “I’ll deal with that.”

“Not a single fucking finger,” Rhordyn grits out, and something about the cut of his tone has that fire scalding me with a whole new level of heat.

My lids flutter closed and a dewy bead darts down my temple. My fingers itch to reach between my legs and press into the source of wetness I can feel slicking my inner thighs.

“You forget I rather value my cock,” Baze replies with a jovial tone that sounds forced.

There’s an awkward beat of silence, the clank of a lock sliding into place, before footsteps assault the rock and taper off. When I can no longer hear any sign of life, I peek around the corner, squealing when I see Baze reclined against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles, arms knotted over his chest. A lounging predator with a bemused expression on his face.

“You scared me!” I shriek, hand slapped across the hammering organ in my chest. “You should try breathing louder. I can’t tell you how much it would benefit my nerves.”

“You’re supposed to be in your tower.”

I peep down to make sure all my bits are covered before mirroring his stance, stifling a moan when the action brushes my pinched, tender nipples. “I heard sounds. In the forest.”

“Rhordyn will have it under control.”

My heart almost leaps out of me. “Just him?”

Baze banks his head to the side. “Of course.”

Of course ...

Does he know what’s out there? What’s really out there? Because if he did, I’m certain he wouldn’t be so blasé about our High Master dealing with it by himself.

My hands twist together, bottom lip pulled between my teeth as I peer off in the direction Rhordyn just disappeared ...

“You have that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The look you get when you’re about to try and break into a door with your hairpin.”

I frown, casting my gaze on the audacious bastard. “You pay far too much attention.”

“Paid to.” His offhand tone is an utter contrast to the russet pins of his eyes. “Which lock are you contemplating an assault on this time?”

I tap my temple, fingers like a woodpecker’s beak. “This one,” I say through clenched teeth.

The one that prevents me from leaving the castle grounds.

His eyes flare as he no doubt realizes what I’m implying. “No,” he commands. “Forget it, Laith. It’s not happening. If he catches you over that line in your current state, things won’t end well.”

“And if he dies, you’ll be the one I—”

Baze groans, tips his head against the wall again, and starts to tick off his fingers.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Tallying the number of threats I’ve received today. I suspect I’m about to hit double digits. Quite the milestone.”

That fire in me flares, flogging my insides with relentless belts that leave me struggling to maintain my composure. He’s not taking this seriously, and I’m all out of patience. No one survives what Rhordyn’s going out there to face head on.

No one but me.

That line my mind has sketched around the castle grounds pales in comparison to the thought of Rhordyn falling victim to those merciless creatures; to him no longer assaulting these halls with his presence or collecting my offering night after night.

A vision of him flashes—one where he’s broken on the ground, bleeding out.

... Wide eyes that stare at nothing.

I flinch.

Not him. My nightmares can chew on me, but they can’t fucking have him.

I don’t register my forward step until Baze is at my front with the pointy end of a wooden dagger poised against my throat, his handsome, statuesque face hardened by a mask of austerity I’ve never seen before.

Not on him.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” he utters with a flash of teeth that appear sharp and vicious in the low light.

“I thought you were supportive of me stretching my wings?” I force out through a clenched jaw.

“Always, but I’m not supportive of hormone-induced stupidity. You’re not ready to face what’s out there. Certainly not like that.”

“I’ve survived them before,” I reply, trying to ignore the tremble in my voice—that battered part of me that’s agreeing with him. Because the raging inferno low in my gut is threatening to turn me into a torch if I don’t chase Rhordyn right now.

“I’m not talking about the Vruks,” Baze growls, sliding forward until barely an inch of space separates us. “Now, I’m awfully sick of breathing through my mouth. So either turn around and climb that tower or I’ll pick you up, toss you over my shoulder, and carry you up there myself.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I fucking would.” He puts pressure on the blade and my eyes flare, cauterizing the urge to swallow lest I drive the thing into my own damn throat. “And I’d pay for it dearly. So why don’t you be a good girl and do what you’re told for a change.”

There is no room for movement in his command, and it occurs to me that he’s learning some terrible habits from our bossy High Master.

“Fine,” I hiss, slamming my hands against his chest and shoving.

Hard.

He stumbles back a few steps, gaze locked on his pectoral. The spot I just touched him. He releases a long, dramatic sigh, resheathing the blade down the inside of his boot and muttering words I don’t understand. When he unravels ... his eyes are pitch black.

He jerks his chin toward my stairs. “Now, Laith. Before you do any more damage.”

There’s something unbridled in the scrape of his voice, and I feel it scour every inch of my skin.

He glides forward a step—the motion so smooth it reminds me of the mountain cat I once saw prowling through the forest—and my heart leaps into my throat.

This time, I have the good sense not to argue.

* * *

Ican hear the howls from my tower—a sound derived straight from the pit of my nightmares. Not even my dense, feather-stuffed pillows can stifle the racket.

Rhordyn’s down there somewhere. With them.

Another pained moan slips out.

Eyes squeezed shut, robe clinging to my sweat-slicked body like a second skin, I tuck my knees up close to my chest and stuff another piece of night bark into my mouth. My third in just as many minutes.

It tastes like dirt and is corrosive to your teeth, but it’s my last resort. A fast-acting sedative that wears off not long after you’ve been dunked into an inky sea of sleep. Though the effects don’t last long, I’m hoping the kick is all it takes considering I’ve barely slept in days.

I just need to be free of this yearning ache between my legs and the sounds I can’t escape; need to be rid of this hollow desperation urging me to race down Stony Stem and dart across my Safety Line. For me to follow Rhordyn into the forest.

I stuff my face into the balled-up pillow slip that smells like him and close my eyes, waiting for sleep to ease me out of this living nightmare. Praying the monsters don’t follow me into the abyss.

But they do.

They always do.

I dream of their vicious talons, of fire licking at my toes and wide eyes that never blink. I dream of a little boy with glistening irises and stretched-out arms, but he’s so far away I don’t think I’ll ever be able to reach him.

I dream of an unyielding hand wrapped around my throat, belonging to a man I think I recognize.

Most of all, I dream of him ...

Rhordyn.

Somehow, that’s the most frightening dream of all.