These Hollow Vows (These Hollow Vows 1)

“Am I dying?” I must be dying, because Finn has me in his arms and he’s touching me so tenderly. He has one hand on the small of my back and the other is stroking down the side of my neck.

“You’re not dying. You’re high.” But he doesn’t even look at me.

“The prince wasn’t around,” Pretha says. “And the queen hasn’t returned to the palace since Litha, though we still have no reason to believe she knows who Abriella is.”

“Then who did this?” he asks. There’s an edge of violence in that voice, and I know it should scare me—he should scare me—but instead the sound turns up the volume on the thrumming pulse between my legs.

High. Drunk. Drugged. Whatever this is, I’m grateful for it because I’m different right now. This Brie isn’t afraid. This Brie doesn’t have to deal with a broken heart and stupid guilt. She gets to say and do whatever she wants, and she wants to feel her fingers in Finn’s hair.

“Your curls are soft.” I twirl one around a finger.

Finn curses. “She’s overheating.”

I shift in his arms, sliding my hand from his hair to behind his neck and lifting my mouth to his ear. “I need to tell you a secret.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Pretha asks.

I feel his deep inhale. I’m pressed so close to him that I move with every breath he takes. “I’ll take care of her. Go find out what you can.”

My skin burns to be touched, and I nuzzle his neck.

“Brie.” His voice is low and deep. The husky timbre rakes along my sensitive nerve endings even as some distant part of my mind registers the warning.

“I saw her with you.”

“What are you talking about?” He’s carrying me somewhere. Somewhere away from the bed, I realize with disappointment, but he’s still holding me, so I don’t protest.

“She was in the library with you. You kissed her. I saw.”

“Who? Kyla?”

“Is that her name? What happened to her?”

He carefully sets me on my feet. “Spy much, Princess?”

“I was trying to get answers. Not that it worked.” I giggle and stumble on the edge of a rug. He pulls me upright, his thumbs grazing the underside of my breasts. I lean in to the touch and look into his eyes—more gray than silver tonight. I reach up and trace the curve of his lips. “You’re beautiful. I think I want to kiss you. Just once.”

His expression changes, and for a breath, I think I see something there. Is that heat? But then it’s gone. “You’ve been drugged. This isn’t you.”

“You’re right. It’s not me. I’m Abriella, the responsible one. The tough one. The boring one.” I close my eyes and settle my hand over his, leading it across my stomach as I whisper, “The lonely one.”

“We have to cool you off.”

I love the sound of his voice. It’s like a gentle massage across my skin. He’s saying more—boring nonsense about body temperature and water and blah blah blah—but I nuzzle into him, guiding his hand across my stomach.

“Brie! Abriella!”

My eyes snap open. We’re in a massive bathing room. How did we get here? When?

He’s turning the dials in the shower; then he nods. “Get in.”

I keep my eyes on him as I unlace my dress. I let it float down my body into a puddle of satin around my feet, leaving me almost naked. His eyes remain on my face. “You’re no fun,” I tease, walking a circle around him. “What did Kyla have that I don’t? What did Sebastian’s girl have that I don’t?”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Get in the shower.”

I step forward to obey, weaving slightly. I still have my undergarments on, the fussy, lacy ones Emma and Tess always give me, but I’ll leave them. I want him to take them off. I want him in there with me, the hot water on our skin, his hands all over me. Sebastian’s not the only one who can find companionship elsewhere.

But when I step into the tiled showering chamber, ice-cold water hits my skin, and I jerk back.

Finn blocks my exit. His legs wide, arms crossed.

I shiver. “It’s freezing.”

“It’s not. Your body temperature is too high.”

I blink at him as the water cascades over me, drenching my hair and my undergarments. “Let me out.”

“I can’t.”

“Fine, then.” I reach forward, tuck two fingers behind his belt, and tug him in with me.

His eyes close, and I see the truth in his strained expression. He wants me. Finn wants me and is fighting it.

With his shirt wet, I can make out the tattoos beneath the fabric. I trace the runes on each pectoral with my thumbs. “I love your tattoos.”

His eyes fly open and he stiffens. “Don’t.”

Does he mean don’t touch him or . . . “Don’t what?” Testing, I trace a tattoo shaped like a flame. “Don’t do this?”