Chapter 70
Freya
I pour myself another glass of wine.
The bottle's almost empty—just like me. It sloshes out in a lazy stream, staining the rim of my glass a bruised red. I don't even flinch when it spills onto my fingers. It's warm. Sticky.
Bitter.
I lift the glass to my lips and sip again, letting it burn its way down.
Outside, somewhere far away, I can hear the faint thud of drums. Laughter. Howls. The revelry.
The Moonlight fucking Revelry. More moonlight fucking sex fest.
And my mate?
My husband?
He's probably buried inside someone else right now. Marking, biting, growling—fucking—like I was never enough to begin with.
I laugh, sharp and hollow. It echoes too loud in the silence of the empty room.
Then—
A sound.
Soft. A footstep? A shift in the air? I freeze.
The estate is supposed to be empty. Every soul out there, basking in the goddess's blessed heat. Every soul except me.
