Corrupted: An Epic Dragons and Immortals Romantic Fantasy (Fallen Emrys Chronicles Book 1) by E.E. Everly (motivational books for men txt) 📕

So much need—on both our ends.

I turned left.

Caedryn didn’t open the door for me. I slipped into the room in the dark. I knew he lay there, on his stomach, huddled over his pillows. I coiled around the one conveniently left on my side of the bed, and my hand fell into the space between us.

His hand was not there.

But I heard his breathing. He was awake, waiting for me. I tried not to imagine the gloating on his face.

He had been expecting me.

Victory two for Caedryn.

No matter. I knew we’d be touching by morning.

I smiled. A victory for me.

FIFTY-ONE

Caedryn was stuck in my head. He wasn’t getting out. All day, during patient care, between patient visits, and while trekking through the snow and down the halls. To my infirmary and back. Caedryn stayed in the citadel, but he remained busy. His men came and went. Reports were given. Riders arrived and left. I passed Caedryn in the halls in the evenings. We ate dinner together and talked quietly. He read to me before a roaring fire in the main library.

We went to bed, his bed. Every single night.

In the morning our hands touched.

The same every day.

He was torturing me, I was sure of it.

The slow, gnawing torture of the damned because this was what I was sure I had become.

He no longer cried out in the night. That was the only reason, the only justification, I gave for continuing my torture.

Because he slept.

Yes, your presence might be all I require.

I was the key. How could his relief be so simple?

The knowledge unhinged me.

His relief was dependent on my light, the little light we shared as he reached out every night.

He always did the reaching, but I left my hand there for him to touch.

Because I wanted the punishment and the intimacy with him.

It felt so wrong.

And it also felt incomplete.

The day Caedryn destroyed his study, I touched him. I caressed his face and brushed back his hair. He hadn’t flinched. I never touched him more than I did then, but I believed he was so distraught he didn’t notice. The regression, to the skimming of our littlest fingers, was the madness that tore through me.

As we roamed about Gorlassar, Aneirin had touched me on many occasions. Even though emrys didn’t express emotion through everyday touch, we didn’t shun it. When in training, I crashed into opponents, grazed them, fell on them, bruised them. Touch was natural. Especially among mortals, but Caedryn’s lack of touch was a noticeable barrier. Unnatural. As if he went out of his way to not touch me.

All except my finger.

The image of the horror on his face, when I shoved him over in bed that first night, led me to believe Caedryn was seriously impaired—deprived. Neglected. Did his mother not touch him as a child? Was he afraid to touch me more because the sensation was peculiar to him?

My conjectures really disturbed me because I sensed an unspoken, uncomfortable vibe between us.

It was part of the torture.

I expected too much. I kept thinking of how Kelyn would hug me or fiddle with my hair. How Owein constantly slipped his arm around my waist or took my arm. Kenrik fought with me. I could still feel his body connecting with mine during training and feel the way his strong hands brushed mine as we scooped feathers up to throw.

This awareness of their lingering sensations was the humanity thing again. I had adopted their desire—their want for touch.

I was the one who was deprived, and Caedryn was provoking me with what I couldn’t get—with only a slight taste. A tingle of vibration in that rankling appendage!

I needed to stop sleeping in his room. An emrys wouldn’t do such an immoral thing.

The blackness in my heart persuaded me to participate in unconscionable conduct I wouldn’t normally consider.

That was another excuse. And I knew it.

But deep inside, the dark secret that hummed through every fiber of my being was that I loved the abuse Caedryn and I were enacting on each other.

How could I stop?

I wondered what his man and my maid thought. They must have been relieved Caedryn wasn’t wailing through the night. On the other hand, were the servants whispering?

“Lowri?” I asked, as she squeezed me into a dress. I don’t know why I let her put me in one on occasion, but she always beamed and remarked at what a fine figure I had. We were in my rooms, and she was helping me dress for the day after I came from Caedryn’s room in my nightdress and robe.

She never remarked.

“My lady?” she asked.

“Are you bothered by my improper behavior? You know I’ve been sleeping in his bed.”

“That’s none of my business.”

“We don’t… touch really. We haven’t… you know.”

“The master’s happy. That’s all that matters.” Lowri finished with the back of my dress and smiled at me.

“He is?”

“Aye, my lady. He is.”

FIFTY-TWO

I beat Caedryn to his room and paced before the fire. I wanted more—more than the single touch by the edge of his pinkie. Did I have a right to demand more?

When did I come to this conclusion? After a few more days of boggling, suppressed, intolerable itching for contact, I almost broke. I almost throttled Caedryn at dinner when he passed me the salt. Our fingers brushed, and he curled his to his chest, clutching them as if I’d burned him.

I left the table and disappeared for the rest of the evening. I found the armory and melted half a dozen shields into a molten lump.

What was wrong with me?

Emrys—I was emrys. I told myself this. Certain feelings were ingrained,