Grimm Fates: Twisted Tales #1 by Paige Ravish

Author:Paige Ravish [Ravish, Paige]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2022-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter thirteen

Drina

“All things by a law divine In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?” – Percy Bysshe Shelley

Sunlight pours through a nearby window, tinting the vision behind my eyelids a hazy orange as my waking mind returns to my body.

I need to get up, but every inch of me aches as though I outran the leading edge of a lightning storm, only to trip over my feet at the last minute and be consumed by the flashing magic, anyway.

Is this always what it feels like to be Wilhelm’s lover?

He was right, I’ve never been with anyone like him.

Friedrich was wild, his madness so prevalent I could taste it on his skin. Wil was the polar opposite, so controlled it seemed painful.

It was painful. I remind myself. Painful and wonderful. Each Grimm brother seems to specialize in individual categories of pain and excitement.

My stomach flutters when I think of what he did with my necklace, a mischievous grin smacking on my lips.

My necklace! I bolt upright and grope at my collarbones and breast, searching for the talisman that the wizard lost his life creating for me.

To my surprise- I find it exactly where it should be, draped around my neck.

So Wilhelm doesn’t mind me knowing when untruths are being spoken. The man is an enigma, one that I want to puzzle out if it takes me forever.

Feeling more secure in the knowledge I didn’t lose my precious Flos Veritatis- I take in the surrounding room. I was so consumed by Wilhelm that I barely glanced around my surroundings. This room is larger than mine- it seems to be part bed chamber and part study.

I nearly scoff at how perfectly this space reflects its master. Trinkets line one level of a bookshelf while those above and below contain leather-bound editions of so many books- I wonder if they even tell different stories. Not one of them is so much as an inch further or behind the other.

A rug as large as the tent I kept back home adorns the stone floor. Its crimson hue shines ever so slightly, as though the fabric is strewn with rubies to catch the light and toss it back to me. Atop the strange rug is a long table piled with scrolls, ink, herbs, and scales.

Does he make potions?

My eyes continue to run over every inch of the space surrounding me. The walls are bare of tapestries, but the floors are nearly covered to completion in rugs of varying looks and textures.

I rub my knees. The sharp pain from the cuts on them reminds me of the hemp-like texture the rug directly in front of this bed holds. Realization dawns on me that the material was intentional.

Wilhelm has filled his chambers with a floor of distinct feeling. Some look deliciously soft, while others look much more jarring than the one that scraped my knees last night.

Curiosity gets the better of me.

I slip out of Wil’s bed, intent on crawling across the plushy rugs. Winter crawls over my skin the second it leaves the mountain of blankets I was beneath.

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