His name is barely above a whisper, but his eyes open instantly at the sound. Murphy’s demeanor shifts from longing to something akin to pain before settling on resignation. His hand slides down the column of my throat before dropping to his side, a chill racing down my skin at the loss of his touch.
The moment, once far too intimate, is now gone entirely.
“Go to bed, Ivy. You’re drunk.”
He’s right. I’ve consumed too much whiskey tonight to be trusted to make decisions, but that is not what intoxicates me now. That honor belongs solely to the magic coursing through my body at lightning speed urging me closer and closer to him.
“Don’t,” I say.
Don’t what? Don’t go? Don’t do this? Don’t say these things to me?
Even I don’t know what I’m asking.
Cal runs his hand through his onyx hair. Every muscle drawn taut as he steps backwards towards his rat-infested broom closet.
“When you kiss me, princess, it won’t be because you’re drunk. It will be because you can’t imagine living one more second of your life without knowing how I taste.”
Cal stalks into his room, slamming the door closed behind him. And once again, I’m left standing in the empty hallway cold, gaping, and struggling to catch my breath.
CHAPTER 11
There is a horrible pounding in my head that grows louder by the minute. Begrudgingly, I open one eye just slightly enough to find the room awash in sunlight. It’s too bright, so I throw the covers up over my head until I’m cocooned in darkness again. But the pounding doesn’t stop.
There’s a vial of dried feverfew somewhere in my pack, along with other medicinal herbs and tonics. If I can just make it there. With a groan, I muster enough strength to push myself up into a sitting position.
The door bursts open suddenly, and I barely have time to cover my exposed chest before Captain Murphy is standing in my bedroom. There’s a brief flash of concern in his gray eyes before they’re overtaken with anger. His gaze scours the room looking for … what exactly is he looking for?
OH. Does he think there’s someone else in here?
It’s only at this realization that the events of last night emerge from the whiskey-induced haze. The memory of his sword, his whispered words, and thealmostkiss—all of it barrels into me so quickly that I sink back down under the covers before he can notice the red flush that now colors my face.
“It’s past dawn.” There’s a light thud on the small bedside table, the sound of something being deposited with haste, that causes me to sink further down into the bed. “I told you. I don’t slow down for hangovers, princess.”
“Can I at least have a bath first?”
I can practically feel his eyes boring into me despite the blankets over my head. “Hurry.”
It’s only when the door shuts and I’m sure that the captain is gone that I drag myself out of bed. A small glass of water sits on the bedside table next to a vial of dried feverfew, gifts from Cal.
I suck in an unsteady breath as I repeat his name over and over again in my head. The name that I couldn’t bring myself to utter before. The name that will likely be my doom.
The fate-filled dreams didn’t haunt me last night, and I choose to believe it’s because of the sheer volume of alcohol that I consumed and no other reason.
Absolutely no other reason.
The pounding starts again and this time it is actually my head and not my escort. I chew the herb and wash it down with the water before I start the arduous process of packing up the clothes that I scattered across the room last night in my drunken stupor.
It takes longer than it should thanks to the liquid sloshing around in my empty stomach, but when I finally manage to stumble down the hall to the bathing chamber, I’m instantly greeted by a roaring fire under the cast iron tub. The clean water inside is gloriously scalding.
Another godsdamned gift.
Whatever this is between us is starting to feel alarmingly uneven—something I need to rectify immediately.
I audibly groan as I slip underneath the hot water. Maybe I can scald off my shame and the memory of the cocky bastard’s words.
“When you kiss me...”not if, when.
We’re standing on the edge of a cliff now, and as much as I would like to blame him for the shove towards the drop-off, it’s as much my doing as his. This connection is a death knell, and we lost any chance of fighting it the moment I said his name and accepted our fate. The fire that burns between us guarantees a blood sport with no winners left standing in the end.
