He pushed the door open and found exactly what he should have expected: a cloaked keeper polishing the latrine, one with a carved wooden seat that had a tail-notch atop the stone bench. A bucket and mop rested beside her. And there, scattered across the bench, were the rinds of lemons and oranges that she was using to polish the rich wood.
The scent hit him like a physical blow. This was it. This was what he’d been smelling. Not Idabel herself, but the cleaning supplies she used.
The realization appalled him. Here he was, standing in a latrine like a fool, lusting after a lemon rind that represented all that was wrong with their relationship.
Worse—he didn’t even know what she actually smelled like. Every time he’d encountered her, she’d been working, surrounded by the tools of her trades. The citrus and herbs and cleaning solutions and faefuckedwar bat hidehad masked whatever natural scent she carried.
He had to know what she really smelled like. The thought obsessed him for the rest of the night, driving out all others no matter how many mind walls he built. The need quickly became a compulsion, interfering with his duties and clouding his thoughts when he should be focused on the coming deployment.
Thank the fallen gods the moths couldn’t see the nonsense inside his head, or he’d never hear the end of it.
His was simple curiosity, nothing more. Once he satisfied this ridiculous fixation, he could put it behind him and concentrate on what mattered. So the next night, as soon as he shook off his day-dust, he found himself perching in the shadows near Maiden Hall like a common pigeon, hoping he wasn’t too late to catch Idabel on her way home from work.
He easily spotted her dark hair navigating the cobbled streets, its shining lengths pinned in braided whorls on top of her head tonight. It was an attractive style, a little like dragon horns, but he itched to unpin them and comb her hair with his claws.
He growled, shaking off the thought. Silly grooming instincts. He saved her life and now his guardian heart believed she belonged to him. He’d forget about her once he deployed and put up his mind walls, and then he’d be free of these annoying little impulses.
She was almost to the door when he struck.
He dropped from the sky like a hunting hawk, snatching her up before she could so much as cry out. His arms closed around her, and then they were airborne, climbing rapidly toward his tier.
“Brandt?” She sounded breathless, and he could feel her heart pounding against the inside of his forearm. “What are you doing?”
He couldn’t answer without admitting to the shameful lack of self-control that had driven him to this. Instead, he concentrated on flying straight up with the extra weight. Thankfully, she didn’t struggle and make it any harder. He landed on his own balcony and set her down. She stumbled back from him immediately, her eyes wide and accusing.
“What are you doing? You can’t justkidnappeople off the street.”
“I need to know something,” he said, advancing on her slowly. She backed away until she hit the stone railing, trapped between him and the dizzying drop to the city street below.
“Know what?” Her voice was high and uncertain.
He leaned closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Close enough to finally,finallycatch her true scent beneath the lingering traces of lemon oil and soap. He had to bury his nose into the side of her neck where her pulse throbbed.
And there it was. Sweet and warm and a little milky, like nothing else, the smell of Idabel. It hit him like a blow to the chest.
“Your scent,” he said roughly, pulling back. “I needed to know your real scent before I left.”
She stared at him like he’d grown a third horn. “My...what?”
He fumbled for an explanation, knowing full well he was being ridiculous. “Every time I’ve encountered you, you smelled of lemons or herbs. I couldn’t tell your true...” He trailed off, realizing how insane he sounded.
“You stole me off the street tosmellme?” Her voice held an edge of amusement.
“I didn’t steal you. I was just...borrowing.” Fallen gods knew he couldn’t keep her.
She laughed and shook her head, sending a gust of her true scent swirling. He found himself leaning closer despite his better judgment, bracing his arms against the balcony railing on either side of her, breathing her in like the rare flower she was. It made his wings spread and his teeth ache. It made his cock hard and his blood sing.
He plucked a pin out of her hair, and then another, until one heavy braid came tumbling down. He picked up the end and pressed it to his nose.
“Stop that,” she snapped, tugging it out of his hand, but her voice had gone breathless again.
“I can’t.” The admission felt torn from him involuntarily. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I can’t get you out of my head.”
Her expression shifted to something doubtful and guarded, even as her cheeks reddened. “You told me to stay away from you.”
He let go of the railing and stepped back, fighting for control. This was madness. She was human, completely unsuitable as a lover in every possible way. He was leaving for war in less than a week. He had responsibilities, duties, a reputation to maintain.
None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the way she was looking at him now, with hunger that matched his own in her dark eyes.
