Page 63 of Heartbreak Prince

“Ah, you’ve felt it, too.” He leans toward me. “Tell me you don’t want to celebrate after an escape like that.”

“Maybe… but not here.” I gesture to the rushing river and the red-tinged forest.

“Why not? There’s no one around.”

I frown, examining his face. “You’re serious. You want to fuck on this rock, right now.”

He grins. “Did you know there’s a theory that sexual activity replenishes magical energy faster?”

“I’m familiar with it,” I say dryly. “The male trainees at the Academy really liked that one. They’d cite it every chance they got.”

“And you don’t believe it’s true?”

I shrug. “There’s some validity to it. After all, what is a penis but an extremity? And it makes sense that the energy in its tip, while it can’t be harnessed through glyphs, could be shared with a partner through sex.”

“I’d be happy to make that sacrifice.” Vawn’s smile lingers at the corner of his mouth and in his luminous eyes, but he doesn’t touch me. “If it would increase our chances of survival.”

“Survival,” I echo absently, my gaze on his lips. I’ve been resistant to the idea of fucking him, but in this situation, there are practical reasons to excuse it. Maybe, if I do this, he won’t have the same vise-grip on my thoughts. Maybe being with him this one time will weaken his seductive power over me and flush some of this repressed energy out of my system.

Vawn quietly pushes back his cloak and undoes three of the buttons on his shirt. It’s a calculated temptation. Does he realize how much I love the curves of his well-cut chest, the tempting valley between his pectorals?

Tentatively, I place my hand over the hollow between his collarbones, then slide it down to his heart.

A mistake. Because he lets out a shuddering breath, like he’s been dying for me to touch him there. When I lift my eyes to his, I see the searing intensity right before he cloaks it with lowered black lashes.

“No,” I whisper, lifting my hand from his chest. “You want me too much.”

“I do not.” He laughs, but the pitch is too high. Too desperate. “I’m addicted to sex, as I told you, and you’re convenient, that’s all. Besides, you need to recharge those glyphs or we’re going to die in the forest.”

“And that’s all?”

“That’s all.” His lip curls. “You think you’re so irresistible? That I’m going mad with the desire to touch you, to be inside you, to taste you? You’re just another pair of tits with a couple decent holes framed by pretty lips. Why are you smiling? I mean it. You’re serviceable and available. Nothing more.”

He’s lying, trying to cover for himself because he’s embarrassed. I want to say, Who’s afraid to be vulnerable now? But I graciously refrain.

“What if I suck your dick? Would that give me the benefit of your energy?” I tap my lips as if I’m considering it.

“Never mind. Forget it.” Vawn gets up and collects his things. Then he opens the carpet case and pulls Severin out. “Can you get us to the other side of the river?”

Severin seems drowsy, but he manages to transport us. The moment we reach the bank, we roll him up and tuck him away immediately so he won’t be in distress. Concern for him nags at the back of my mind as we continue to navigate the forest.

When night comes, we camp on a rocky outcropping and take turns keeping watch. The wind and the cold are brutal, and I’m half afraid we’ll die of exposure during the night, but we don’t dare camp in the forest or on a slope near wimmet holes, nor can we risk firelight drawing attention from any hunters that may haunt the sky, looking for us.

During my watch, I sit huddled in my cloak with Vawn’s cloaked body curled around me to share heat. The upper layers of the blood ivy glow ruby-red for the first part of the night, flush with the sunshine they absorbed during the day. The light fades later, but the moon is out, which provides me with some light. Unfortunately it also makes us more visible to any patrols on carpets or wyverns.

Once, shortly after midnight, I spot a large object in the sky, and I wake Vawn so we can both activate our stealth glyphs if necessary. But the entity, whatever it is, turns westward and doesn’t approach our camp.

Vawn takes the next watch, and I curve my body around his seated form. Normally the cold would keep me awake, but I’m too exhausted. I fall into a dead sleep.

The next day passes like a screech of nails on glass, like raw nerve endings ground between stones. By the time Vawn and I reach the trail leading into the canyon, we are grimy, sweaty, and hollow-eyed, bleeding from multiple shallow wounds. The cut on the back of my left wrist has been opened so many times to feed my glyphs that it’s horribly inflamed, bruised around the edges. Before long, I fear it might begin to ooze pus rather than blood.

“This path is kept clear by the Forestry Guard, so it should be safe.” I take two steps onto it, and my ankles wobble.

Vawn takes my elbow, steadying me. “You need rest and healing. Your wrist—”

“I’m fine. You’re tired and injured too.” I start to trudge ahead, but he pulls me around to face him.

“Forsythia.” There’s tragedy in his eyes, an ache that encompasses everything we’ve endured on this journey. “What you’ve done for me—I can never repay you.”