The Elf Witch |Book 1|

Chapter 50

The heat in his gaze nearly burned her as he looked down. Without a word, he lifted her up, carefully pulling the dress the rest of the way off and draped it over the chair like his jacket.

Imani swiped her tongue over her lower lip and stripped off his pants. She couldn't help but admire his chest again.

Bulkier than his younger brother, each of Saevel's muscles was perfectly defined, showing off the power in them with ease. He had two bindings—one that ran from shoulder to collarbone and another on the side of his abdomen.

But it also reminded her that she liked Kiran's more.

Saevel huffed out a laugh as she slid down his body, rubbing her hands down her chest and stomach. "I like your enthusiasm, little elf."

Meandering away, she moved to sit on the bed. She knew it would feel good—and she did need to feed—but it felt hard for her to focus. All she could think about was her stupidity. How she'd underestimated Meira's resentment. How she'd underestimated the rumors about Kiran.

Yes, she had underestimated a great many people.

Meira viewed her as some wild beast to be put down—for Gods' sake, her sister knew they would hear her witness testimony and swiftly execute Imani just like they did Ara. And she still did it.

On the other hand, Kiran saw her as a stupid female elf whom he could treat as his plaything before marching her off to her death. Imani had been a little brown mouse, and he had been the snake, coiled and ready to strike.

They both wanted to use her to get what they wanted before they watched her die.

Deep down, a part of Imani admired people for their ruthlessness and willingness to take what they wanted. Despite being a woman, and despite being an unwanted prince, Kiran and Meira weren't afraid to be strong.

She used to be that person. Ara had accused her of not accepting who she was the night before she died—and she'd been entirely correct. Imani had denied that essential monstrous part of herself for years, especially recently. Trying to do what her sister asked her—to make her happy—went against her instincts.

Ara knew the urges were infused into Imani's body, infecting her essence. It lived in her blood and bones. Unless someone drained her dry and ripped her to pieces, Imani would never be rid of them. Instead, she'd fought her natural inclinations for the past decade. Could she be that person again? Did she have enough control now to let that part of her out to play?

"Come here." Imani started to unhook her brassiere and tried not to compare Saevel to Kiran again. 

Merely thinking about the elf prince made her hands shake—especially those last words when he deposited her in this bedroom. What an idiot she'd been to think they might be some type of kindred spirits together.

All witches were in danger of being trapped for their power, and her kind grew up hearing stories about elf witches, especially females, who were captured and enslaved for their magic. For their cunts. This felt dangerously close to that fate, and it horrified her. She had to crush the feelings further down inside her at the moment though. It wouldn't do for Saevel to see her hurting.

She never wanted to be controlled like this again—never. If she didn't find a way out of this, Ara would be disgusted.

Saevel marched forward and ripped the bralette away, flinging the whole thing to the floor—and for a moment she wasn't thinking about anything but the present. Imani gasped as he took one of her breasts in each hand, kneading gently. Then he leaned down to lick at her nipples, and she moaned as he pinched one, sucking on the other to get it hard.