EVELARA
The mirror in the chamber reflected more than my visage. It displayed the evidence of last night's passion, the remnants of a powerful event I had barely endured—and one I knew I would never forget.
My throat bore faint purple impressions, still tender to the touch. My waist ached with deep, angry bruises, and my lips… my lips were swollen, plump, coloured by my own blood and his hunger.
‘Delicious. Just what I prefer for newly-weds.’ Dravara licked her lips shamelessly. ‘Isn't it better? You had a wedding before, and now the passion. Perfect!’
‘Shut up!’ I glared at her, only to make her chuckle darkly.
‘Yeah, as if you're not enjoying every bit of it.’ She mocked.
I ignored her, and pressed a trembling hand to my chest, taking in a shallow breath. Because, she
